


Accept Her Gift

by WitchOfTheWestCountry



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted forced incest, Biting, Bugs & Insects, Cannibalism, Chainsaw accident, Decapitation, Dismemberment, Domestic Violence, Even more vomiting, Eye Gouging, Force-Feeding, Gen, Gore, Hair-pulling, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loss of Virginity, Lots of mold, Masturbation, Mild Blood, Miscarriage, Naughty language, Not so mild blood, Oral Sex, Self-Harm, Some more vomiting, Squished eyeballs, Tasteful-ish smut, The feels, Violence, Vomiting, hair cutting, i'm not crying, mold, you're crying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-10 01:31:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 193,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10426245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchOfTheWestCountry/pseuds/WitchOfTheWestCountry
Summary: The Baker household is troubled, but not as troubled as it will be.An account of the family before, during and after Eveline's arrival.





	1. 9 Days Before

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SleepyEmily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepyEmily/gifts).



> Inspired by Lucas's "Fuck You List" in the Daughter's DLC

_The Fuck-You List (Oct. 2014 Edition)_

_10/1 - The old man slapped me right in the face for checking my phone during dinner._

_Fuck You!_

 

Daddy was a sweetheart most of the time. The times when he wasn’t were always due to drinking.

 

Zoe hadn’t realised that Daddy was most of the way down his fifth bottle of beer, but when she came to the table after her mother had called her to dinner she glanced into the kitchen and saw all the empties lined up on the counter. If she’d known, she would never have pranked Lucas.

Lucas was already seated, digging into Momma’s meatloaf without expression, his eyes faraway. His left hand held the fork, his right hand twitched on the table top, tapping text into a phone that wasn’t there. He was a slave to his phone, she knew. No matter what he was doing, day or night, if he heard a notification, he had to check it. It was a Pavlovian response. She often used it to annoy him.

“Tag someone so they have to open their phone to look at this chicken nugget.”

“Tag someone to ruin their day.”

“Tag a friend who could take this dildo.”

Zoe would tag Lucas, often not hearing the sound of his phone but more often hearing him cussing her out from somewhere in the house:  
“Godammit, Zoe!”

It always made her laugh. But now she was nervous.

She’d tagged her brother in a Tumblr post and queued it so he’d be notified during dinner. She’d thought of nothing more than of seeing his reaction to the stupid meme she’d posted and of Jack reprimanding him. She hadn’t counted on Daddy drinking.

Though her appetite was non-existent, she began to eat. Marguerite was sensitive about her cooking, and like any Momma liked to see people eating. Jack seemed subdued, and she hoped that was a good sign.

For a few minutes there was nothing but the sound of people eating. Zoe cast about in her mind for a topic of conversation that could drown out the noise of Lucas’s phone, but when the notification sounded it was shockingly loud.

Jack’s head jerked to the right, his eyes narrow behind the lenses of his glasses. The quickness of the movement startled Zoe, but Lucas didn’t even notice. His hand was already going to the pocket of his hoodie, an automatic reaction, his own head turning away from his father.

Her brother’s phone was in his hand before she could say a word. He glanced at the screen, thumbing the button on the side, at exactly the same time Jack slammed his beer bottle onto the table.

“Lucas!”

Lucas turned to look at his father at the sound of his name, and that was why the backhander that was meant to hit the side of his face hit him in the nose instead. Zoe heard Marguerite gasp beside her, her fork clattering onto her plate.

“What have I told you about using your phone at the table, son?” bellowed Jack. “Have some goddam manners!”

Lucas couldn’t reply – his free hand was already clamped over his face, blood squirting between his fingers. He always had been prone to nosebleeds.

“Jack!” said Marguerite reproachfully. “There was no need to hit the boy!”

Jack grunted and turned back to his dinner, lifting the nearly empty beer bottle again.

“I told him often enough, Marguerite. Maybe he’ll listen now.”

As far as Jack was concerned, the interlude was over - point made, justice done. But Zoe could see the frown on his forehead, the crease between his eyebrows that formed when something had upset him, and she knew he hadn’t meant to hit so hard, nor so sloppily.

Lucas pushed his chair back with such violence it nearly toppled over.

“Fuck you, old man!” he snarled, his voice muffled behind his hand.

He kicked the leg of the table, making the plates jump. Marguerite wrung her hands, looking between her husband and her son with consternation, but Jack didn’t react other than to scoop up another forkful of mashed potatoes.

Then Lucas was gone, a trail of curses coasting in his wake, the soles of his shoes hitting the stairs as if he hated every single one of them.

Zoe still clutched her fork, her knuckles white. Daddy was eating again, Momma seemed like she wanted to follow Lucas.

“Leave him be,” rumbled Jack, sensing her dilemma. “Boy’ll calm down soon enough. He ain't broken.”

Zoe cleared her throat.

“May I be excused, Momma? I ain’t hungry....”

Marguerite nodded, patting her arm conspiratorially.

“Go on, cher,” she murmured.

Zoe didn’t wait for her father’s response. She fled.

 

Lucas was in their old room, the one they’d shared when they were little. He always went there when he wanted to be alone, or when he was upset. He still had a “secret” den there, up in the attic, that everybody knew about but no-one ever mentioned. They all knew he needed at least some semblance of privacy.

Zoe listened at the door. She didn’t just want to burst in on him, even though she had as much right to be there as he did. She could hear him muttering to himself, his breathing making a laboured snuffling sound. She lifted her hand and knocked on the door.

The muttering stopped. She waited.

“Lucas?” she called. “Are you ok?”

“Fuck off.”

Zoe grinned despite herself. At least he was talking to her.

She pushed open the door, ignoring his objections, closing it behind her.

Lucas was sat on his childhood bed, his back to the doorway, looking ridiculously out of place amongst the stuffed toys and sports memorabilia. His first baseball bat, still mounted on its display board, lay discarded by his feet. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d hit a baseball.

“You’ve got a nerve coming up here,” grumbled Lucas, refusing to face her. “It’s all your fault!”

Zoe sighed.

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t know Daddy had been drinking.”

She approached the bed slowly, half expecting her brother to lash out, but he remained hunched over, one foot on the bed, the other scuffing idly at the floorboards.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think Daddy meant to hit you so hard....”

Lucas turned to glare at her. The bleeding had already stopped, but there was a drying crust of red beneath his nose and his sleeve was streaked with blood where he’d tried to stem the flow.

“Who gives a shit whether he meant it or not? He still did it. He’s a fuckin’ bully.”

“No he’s not!” protested Zoe. “It’s only when he’s had too many beers.....”

She stopped, hearing herself defending him. It was true, but that didn’t mean it was right. She wondered if one day she’d be married to a man who hit her, whether she’d make the same excuses herself. The thought troubled her.

Lucas scrubbed some more at the dried blood under his nose, flakes of it sticking to his sleeve. He regarded her balefully.

“You would stand up for him.” He was sullen. “He never hits you. Daddy’s girl.”

“Momma’s boy.”

Feeling drained, Zoe dragged herself over to the bed and slumped onto it next to her brother. She was tired of all the bickering. It had gotten much worse lately. There was something in the air, something that unsettled all of them. She knew she couldn’t be the only one to feel it. Felt like something big was about to happen and she didn’t like it one bit.

“You know he’ll apologise,” she said wearily. “And you know Momma will bake brownies.”

“Yeah, but why have you got to be so fucking annoying anyways?” demanded Lucas. “It ain’t even funny!”

He turned away once more, deliberately shunning her. She watched his bowed back and hunched shoulders as he concentrated on his phone, before allowing her gaze to drift around the room.

It was divided in half equally, Lucas’s side painted green, her side purple. She remembered Daddy doing it after they’d moved from the old house into this one, measuring carefully to be fair, to ensure they each had their own space.

Lucas had been scared of the new room. He hadn’t said it, but she’d known. Always prone to nightmares, he’d had more once they’d moved in. Their parents’ room was further away than the previous one, but no matter what time of night or how quietly he whimpered, Marguerite had always known when Lucas was troubled by bad dreams. Zoe had lost count of the times she’d woken during her childhood to see her mother leaning over Lucas’s bed, soothing him by the soft glow of her lantern. Sometimes he’d had night terrors. Zoe remembered more than one occasion when Momma had stayed there all night, lying precariously on the edge of Lucas’s bed, rubbing his back between his shoulder blades – the only thing that seemed to work.

But there had been a time when Momma hadn’t come. It hurt Zoe to remember.

Momma had been getting big. Zoe had noticed long before Lucas, but she hadn’t said anything. Lucas noticed one morning at breakfast. He’d stopped eating his pancakes and stared at their mother for a long time before saying:

“Momma? Why you gettin’ so fat?”

Zoe thought their mother would be upset, but she’d just laughed, smoothing her dress over her belly like she was proud.

“You’ll find out soon enough, cher,” she’d said, ruffling his hair. He’d had hair then. Nearly the same colour as her own. Thick and fluffy like hers.

It must have been a month or so after that when the doctor came during the night. Zoe and Lucas had lain in bed, listening to their father’s frantic footsteps, to doors slamming, to muttered conversations. They’d heard their mother crying somewhere down the hall, like she’d hurt herself, and the sound had made Lucas cry as well. But Momma didn’t come to see to him.

Zoe had listened as long as she could before Lucas’s weeping became monotonous, and even though she was worried she might get into trouble, she’d gotten out of bed and climbed in with her brother.

“There now Lucas, don’t you cry.” Their mother’s words. Lucas had quietened down, but Zoe had rubbed his back anyway.

At one point, Jack had looked in on them, his face drawn and his cheeks grey. He’d nodded in approval at the sight of Zoe crowded into her brother’s narrow bed, his eyes crinkling at the corners slightly like they did when he smiled.

“That’s a good girl, Zoe. You look after your brother.”

After that, Momma was skinny again. Too skinny. Zoe hadn’t liked it. And even though for weeks afterwards Marguerite had slept a great deal, she’d always seemed to be tired.  
Jack and Marguerite had always wanted a big family. They’d only ever had Zoe and Lucas.

Zoe forced her thoughts back to the present. Lucas still had his back to her, his entire demeanour resentful. Without thinking, she reached over and began to rub his back, between his shoulder blades, just like Momma had always done.

The contact seemed to startle him, as he cringed away from her touch, but she persevered, even though without his childhood chub it was like rubbing a bunch of wire hangers wrapped in cloth. Soon, he’d begun to relax, to lean slightly into her hand like a cat.

“You know,” mused Zoe, “You’re more like Daddy than you realise.”

“Oh yeah?”

She could hear his disbelief.

“Yeah. You got Daddy’s hair.”

Lucas snorted.

“You got Momma’s fat ass!” he retorted.

Zoe laughed out loud, punching him on the top of his arm.

“I wish! Momma’s thicc.”

The incredulous, disgusted look on her brother’s face made her laugh even harder.

“You ain’t right, Zoe!” he decreed, shaking his head, but he had the ghost of a smile on his lips now.

“Hang on there, Lucas,” said Zoe, once she’d recovered. “I got somethin’ that’ll cheer you up.” She went over to her side of the old room, rummaging in a trunk amongst dilapidated toys and shock-haired dolls for a while before producing a bottle.

“What the fuck is that?” demanded Lucas.

“Momma’s cookin’ sherry,” Zoe told him, uncorking it. “Take a fucking sip, I dare you.”

“You take one. I double dare you.”

Zoe wasn’t in the mood for double dog dares, and she knew once she’d taken a swig Lucas would have to follow suit or be branded a pussy, so she took a deep breath and lifted the bottle to her lips. The sharp, raisiny smell infiltrated her nostrils, making her gag, but Lucas’s snigger spurred her on. She took 3 deep swallows before the taste hit her, and she gasped, suppressing the urge to puke it all back up.

“Shit....” She belched, bile rising briefly in her throat. “It’s great Lucas,” she croaked. “Try some!”

Still laughing, Lucas accepted the bottle, wrinkling his nose as the fumes rose from the neck.

“Zoe, you are pure class,” he told her, before upending the bottle and drinking.

Still feeling sick, Zoe collapsed on the bed next to him. She still felt like heaving, but at least her brother was smiling now.


	2. 8 Days Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hangovers and preparing for the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing about Zoe and Lucas as kids breaks my heart for some reason :(
> 
> This is for Sleepy Emily, who loves pre-infection Lucas

_ October 2 _

_ Reports say a storm's coming. _

_ I had a lot of trouble cleaning up after the last one a few years back. I guess it's time to reinforce the windows and shore up the roof. _

_ Maybe I'll get Lucas to help. _

 

  * __Jack’s Journal__



 

 

Zoe had been having a good dream. She'd been making out with Mason Cooper, the bagboy at the grocery store where Momma shopped. He was dumb as dogshit but had the finest ass she'd ever seen on a man.

It had started out good, anyways, making out in the orchard out back of the Johnson place, but had quickly become frustrating, with her daddy riding round and round them on his mower, the drone of the motor a monotonous distraction. Also, Dream-Mason had been clumsy, constantly butting against her nose and lips, his hands groping for her tits but always missing and jabbing her ribs instead.

Annoyed, Zoe woke up. It felt like someone had pissed in her mouth and shit in her head.

She could still hear daddy's mower circling her, the buzz of the motor rising and falling, and she pried her eyelids open in confusion, squinting at the intrusive light.

Now she remembered that she and Lucas had finished the whole rotten bottle of Momma’s stinky cooking sherry, happy-assholing around and bickering like they always did, daddy's slap in the face temporarily forgotten. And then she couldn't remember much else.

Somehow, it appeared, they'd both fallen asleep - or passed out, more accurately - on Lucas’s old bed in their childhood room, the light still blazing overhead.

Zoe lifted her head with difficulty. Lucas was snoring loudly, a nasal sound like a buzzsaw,  folded up awkwardly with his head dangling off the foot of the bed. His dirty sneakers were all up in her face, his bony knees digging into her ribs.

Zoe tried to pull her head away from his feet and banged the back of it against the wall instead, spurring on the headache that had already begun to throb behind her eyes.

“Shit….” she croaked. “Lucas!  _ Lucas!” _

“Five more minutes, Momma,” mumbled her brother, trying to turn over but rolling off the edge of the narrow bed. He hit the floor with a grunt and fell straight back to sleep.

Zoe hauled herself up, her cramped limbs screaming at her, her stomach rolling queasily. She tried to wake Lucas again, nudging him with the toe of her sneaker, but he muttered something about pineapples and pulled his hood over his face. In a fit of compassion she grabbed the tiny, stale pillow off the bed and managed to wedge it under her brother's head before stumbling from the room, turning off the light as she left.

 

Zoe staggered into the bathroom, drank water with her mouth under the faucet until her ribs ached. There had been a brief argument with her stomach about whether she'd puke or not but she'd won that.

Creeping down the hall past Momma and Daddy's room she paused, hearing her parent's ancient bedsprings creak as her father rolled over in bed. There was a squeaky board right near their door and she didn't want to make any noise. When Daddy had been drinking beer he'd get up numerous times in the night, lumbering to the bathroom where he'd leave the door open as he pissed like a racehorse. She waited until she'd heard his snores resume before continuing to her bedroom, the deep rumbles of his beer-sodden breathing sounding like a bull charging over a cliff.

Zoe tiptoed through her bedroom door, pulling off her jeans as she went before tumbling face down on her bed. She felt like shit already and hoped she'd feel better by the morning, as Momma wanted her help canning the autumn fruits and vegetables. She sniggered into her pillow at the thought of how crappy Lucas was going to feel after a night on the bare wooden floor and drifted off to sleep.

 

She'd hoped for a continuation of the Mason Cooper dream - maybe a better one in which she finally got some dick - but instead she got a worse one.

She was little again, her hair twisted into scruffy braids that never seemed to stay put, her tennis shoes covered in swamp mud. She was staring at the ceiling of the room she shared with Lucas,  and there was something wrong with it.

Lucas was there too, a skinny kid in his OshKosh bib overalls he'd practically lived in as a boy, the ones Momma was always patching up because he constantly went through the knees climbing trees.

“Don't tell Daddy, Zoe,” he was saying, crying even though he knew daddy didn't approve of sissy tears. “Please don't tell ‘im.”

He wiped his snotty nose on his sleeve, shuffling from foot to foot like he always did when he was nervous.

Zoe didn't understand what the brown stain on the ceiling was, but she knew it was bad and scary.

She'd been away for the summer, staying with Uncle Amos and Aunt Olivia, and when she'd come back their bedroom had smelled funny, like the time the woodchuck had got trapped in the walls.

“Was it a woodchuck?” she asked.

“Naw! Weren't no woodchuck, Zoe. Don't tell Daddy!”

Lucas teased her sometimes and pulled her braids, but he did nice stuff too. He'd built her a wooden dollhouse all by himself with windows that really opened and he'd given their cousin Jacob a bloody nose one time when he'd called Zoe a stupid little bitch. Lucas was her tormentor but he was also her hero.

She took Lucas’s bony hand in her own little, pudgy one.

“I won't tell, Lucas,” she promised.

“I'll get rid of ‘im, Zoe,” said Lucas. “I’ll clean up, I swear.”

“Ok, Lucas,” said Zoe. She knew he would do what he said. He always did. Even if it was bad stuff.

Lucas stopped crying and they both looked at the brown mark.

“Stoopid Oliver,” he said.

“Yeah! Stoopid Oliver,” agreed Zoe.

Momma called them down for supper.

 

Someone was knocking on Zoe’s bedroom door. From the softness of the raps, she knew it was her mother.

“I'm awake, Momma,” she called through a throat that felt like it was full of sawdust. Her head was pounding.

“Good morning, cher. Do you know where your brother is? Your father's looking for him.”

“He's prolly in the old bedroom. And Momma?”

“Yes, cher?”

“Be gentle with him……”

Zoe hauled herself upright, listening to her mother's light footsteps as she retreated down the hall. Poor Lucas. He was gonna be stiffer than a preacher's cock up a calf's ass.

She smelled bacon cooking, and her stomach lurched at the thought of the breakfast her mother was preparing. Marguerite was a big believer in a hearty breakfast but her grits made Zoe shudder at the best of times. Lucas referred to them as _the Devil's_ _spunk:_ “Momma’s cookin up the Devil’s spunk again, Zoe. Hope ya got that gag reflex under control…..”

She really hoped there was some oatmeal……

 

Jack was already at the table, browsing the morning paper.

“Morning Zoe,” he bellowed with his usual heartiness.

He peered at her over the top of his glasses at her lacklustre reply.

“Girl, you look a little worse for wear. You comin’ down with somethin’?”

“I'm fine, Daddy. Just slept badly,” she said wanly, picking up a piece of toast and nibbling the corner. She'd brushed her teeth and rinsed with mouthwash to get rid of the taste and smell of the sherry, but it felt like the stuff was seeping out of her pores.

“Hmmph. I'm sure you did….” he remarked knowingly, chuckling behind his paper.

Her mother bustled in, setting a plate of bacon on the table. Zoe felt her gorge rise at the sight of the greasy strips, but Jack put down his paper eagerly and snatched up his fork.

“Get a decent breakfast down ya, Zoe - your mama's cookin’ can cure anything!”

It was touching how loyal he was to Marguerite’s cuisine, but he was old-school. He liked the artery-clogging wares she produced for him, the carbs and the fat and the sticky, sweet pies. She often thought her father would eat a pig's asshole if it had butter slathered on it.

“No sign of your brother yet….” commented Jack, biting down on the fatty bacon with an expression of bliss. “I need his help. There's a storm brewing. News said so. Gonna be a bad one. We haveta shore up the roof an’ reinforce the windows. Don't want damage like we got a few years ago.”

Zoe sighed and took the bull by the horns.

“Well, Daddy, if yer gonna ask for his help, I think you should apologise to him first. Y’know. After last night…..”

Jack stopped mid-chew, a frown pulling his eyebrows together.

“You hit him…..?” she reminded him. “Gave him a nosebleed.”

Her father swallowed, his frown giving way to a look of shame she rarely saw.

“I did, didn't I?” he said softly. He sighed. “You're right, honey. I'll do that.”

Lucas staggered into the room looking even worse than her.

“Speak o’ the devil!” exclaimed Jack cheerfully. “Look what the cat done dragged in. Boy, you look like you been et by a wolf an’ shit off a cliff.”

Lucas shot him a filthy look but didn't reply, slouching down at the table with his hands in his pockets. He was wearing the clothes he'd slept in and Zoe could see the blood dappling the front of his hoodie and smearing the sleeve.

Jack folded his paper and wiped his mouth.

“Son,” he said gently. “I want to apologise to you for flyin’ off the handle last night. There weren't no call for me to lash out at you like I did, an’ I'm truly sorry.”

Lucas tried to hold his scowl but Zoe could see his emotions at war behind his sullen expression. He was still pissed, but she knew part of him desperately wanted their father's love and approval. It was hard for him to back down, though. Both men were as stubborn as two mules. But now that Jack had apologised at least Lucas could give in gracefully.

“Ok,” he said finally. Zoe could tell he wanted to add something angry or sarcastic but didn't quite dare.

Jack stood up.

“C’mere, boy, an’ give yer ole man a hug!”

Zoe covered her mouth to hide the smirk that sprang to her lips at the look of horror on her brother's face. She was accustomed to daddy's bear hugs, as he doled them out to Zoe and her mother on a regular basis, but he rarely hugged Lucas. When he did it was always the “manly” version, with the correct amount of distance and the bone-jarring back slaps.

Lucas looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, but he stood awkwardly nevertheless, staggering as he was reluctantly swept into his father's embrace. From experience, Zoe knew he shunned physical affection like it was a beating, and hugging him was like putting your arms around a coat rack, but Jack wouldn't be dissuaded. Lucas got the full treatment: The back slaps, the rocking, even the little lift at the end, although Lucas’s sneakers barely left the floor.

Once it was over, Lucas retreated to the safety of his chair, his face flushed with embarrassment.

“Shut the fuck up, Zoe,” he hissed under his breath before she could say anything. A pre-emptive strike.

Momma came into the room, her face wreathed in smiles, full of joy that her men had resolved their problems. She set a plate of grits and bacon down in front of her son and Zoe watched Lucas’s face go from grey to white to green, his adam’s apple bobbing convulsively as he struggled to keep down bile and whatever sherry remained in his stomach.

“I think I'll cook chitterlings for supper….” Marguerite said to Jack happily, and Lucas lost his battle.

“S’ry m’ma…” he squeaked, slapping his hand over his mouth and pushing his chair away from the table.

Zoe giggled as she watched him run from the room, nearly tripping in his haste to get to the bathroom.

Marguerite shook her head.

“What is wrong with that boy? Maybe I'll bake him some brownies, hmmm?”

Zoe grinned.

“You do that, momma. He'll like that.”

 

After breakfast - two pieces of dry toast and black coffee - Zoe went to their old room. She'd left the empty bottle in there and wanted to get rid of the evidence.

Lucas had finished puking and gone out with their father to get the tools from the shed. He'd resembled a freshly exhumed corpse and smelled about as bad.

Zoe searched the room, looking under the old bed and in the toy chest, eventually finding the unstoppered bottle wedged by the side of the dresser. The smell rising from the neck made her gorge rise, but she tossed it in the trash quickly and covered it with old newspapers.

Feeling faint, she perched on the edge of the bed, her legs straight out in front of her. The air in the room was heavy and turgid, the dust stirred up by her investigations tickling her nose. Momma was downstairs preparing the jars for pickling, but Zoe couldn't think about joining her yet. She'd probably pass out at the smell of vinegar.

She remembered the dream she'd had the night before, the non-Mason one. Had it been a real memory? It had felt like one.

She looked up at the ceiling, looking for any marks. It was in need of painting, and badly water stained from the storm a few years ago, but there were no big brown marks.

The more she looked at it, the more it seemed it should be there. Roughly four feet in length, about half as wide, uneven round the edges. And the smell. It made her think of woodchucks for some reason.

She shook her head. Memories were strange things, and she knew they could be unreliable. Still, she felt sure she recalled Daddy painting the ceiling once, dressed in his paint-splashed overalls at the top of a ladder. His face had been grim, but when she'd asked what was wrong he'd smiled broadly, coming down the ladder to pick her up and squeeze her, dab a splodge of paint on the end of her nose.

Had that been the same night daddy had put them to bed as well as Momma? He never did it normally, but once he had. He'd tucked her in, given her a kiss, given her doll Annabeth a kiss too at her insistence. And he'd whispered to her before Momma had turned out the light.

_ “Always remember we love your brother, honey.” _

Something like that.

Zoe got to her feet. Momma was clinking the jars together, hinting. The dream was probably bullshit.

 

Gender-roles were clearly defined in the Baker household: The men worked outside, the women inside.

Marguerite sent Zoe outside at noon with lunch for “the boys”. The weather was muggy, the crackling energy of the storm building, and both Jack and Lucas were working with their shirts off. The contrast between them was marked: Jack with his barrel chest, the hint of a beer belly thickening his middle; Lucas with his xylophone-slat ribs and almost concave abdomen.

Zoe doled out beers and sandwiches, her father tossing down a plank of wood to dig into his immediately.

Lucas still looked pale, for all his exertion, and regarded the beer like it would bite him.

“C’mon, Lucas, hair o’ the dog,” she whispered.

He shrugged, popping the top off and steeling himself for the first swallow.

“Chug!Chug!Chug!Chug!” chanted Zoe.

Lucas gave her the finger and swung the bottle to his lips.

“Lucas, don't flip your sister off,” reproached Jack mildly, looking at the sky. “Reckon it's gonna be a big one this time. Can feel it, can't ya? Like the whole o’ nature's holdin’ it's breath.”

Lucas belched, spoiling the poetry of the moment. Jack looked at him with a mixture of indulgence and despair.

“Boy, I swear sometimes I think there ain't no hope for you livin’ amongst civilised people!” he chuckled.

Lucas grinned, and for a moment Zoe felt time stand still.

Memories could be unreliable, true, but there was one she had where every detail would be indelibly burned in her mind.

 

Lucas never started trouble, but trouble somehow found him. He'd had a couple of fights early on in high school, the townies thinking it would be fun to pick on the big-nosed, skinny swamp boy, but he'd gained enough of a reputation as a “dirty fighter” for them to leave him alone after that - physically, anyways.

The boys said Lucas fought like a girl, but their Uncle Amos had a better analysis: Lucas was the kind of guy, he said, who would sharpen a toothbrush handle and shank you in the prison yard when the guard's back was turned. He was fast and he was mean and he was vicious. Fighting with Lucas wouldn't earn you bruises and broken teeth. He was a kicker, a biter, a hair puller and an eye gouger.

Zoe remembered when a huge boy who'd been held back a couple of years had started in on him outside school, first with the abuse and then the shoves. Lucas hadn't retaliated until the boy had started to punch: big, roundhouse haymakers that he dodged without trouble until one caught him upside the head. Then he'd dropped his backpack and went to work.

The boy had ended up in hospital, one ear short with a dislocated pinky and a twisted nutsack. Everyone at school said it was a queer move, going for the balls, but the boy had been reduced to a screaming, blubbering wreck on the floor by the time Lucas had finished and needed three teachers to help him to his feet, another 3 to drag her brother off. The fight had earned Lucas a month's worth of detention and a weekly slot in the school psychologist’s office, but nobody touched him from then on.

Of course, what he'd done to the boy at school was nothing compared to what he'd done to the boy that had followed Zoe home.

 

She'd been 14, Lucas 16. They often walked home together, taking a shortcut through the swamp they knew, but that day Lucas had been kept behind  for calling a teacher a bitch. Zoe was dreading telling their parents that Lucas was in trouble again, but in her honest opinion the teacher in question  _ was  _ a bitch.

She hadn't gotten far when she heard a voice calling her name. Looking around, she saw Brent Chambers hurrying along behind her.

Brent was a jock, the same age as Lucas. He was a walking cliché: Tall, blond, tanned, muscular, Captain of the football team, dating a cheerleader. Except hadn't they broken up recently…?

“Hi, Zoe. Where's Lucas?”

Zoe’s heart sank. He couldn't be looking for Lucas, surely.

“He's in detention. Again.”

“Cool! It was you I wanted to talk to anyways.”

Zoe liked to think she was one of the cooler, dont-give-a-fuck kids, but deep down she knew she was just as insecure as her brother. She'd had a crush on Brent since she was 12, but he'd barely looked at her in the past 2 years. Why would he? He was 16, surrounded by overdeveloped girls his own age, whereas Zoe was a scrawny kid with a flat chest and hand-me-down clothes from her cousins. She felt herself blushing at his attention.

She hardly knew what to say to him, but it didn't seem to matter: He talked enough for both of them, chatting about music and school and football. If she was honest with herself, most of what he said was mindless bullshit, but she was thankful for his confidence.

He offered to carry her books, something she'd only seen on tv shows, and as they went along the path meandering towards her home she felt on top of the fucking world.

They were in the deepest part of the bayou when he stopped.

“Uh, Zoe? I hope you don't mind me askin’, an’ you can say no if you like, but….do you think it would be ok for me to kiss you?”

In that moment, Zoe imagined an entire relationship, like the ones she'd seen in the movies: A montage in which they chased each other over beaches, tumbled together in long grass laughing, Brent carrying her on his back, lying for hours staring into each other's eyes…..

Zoe felt her lips twitch as she fought down a nervous giggle.

_ Be cool, Zoe, be cool…. _

“Sure. Ok.”

He smiled, his teeth straight and white in his tanned face.

“Great!”

He set her books down and stepped closer, gently pressing his lips to hers. Zoe closed her eyes, unable to believe what was happening. She couldn't wait to tell her friend Chelsea…..

Brent kissed her harder, his tongue slipping between her lips. She squirmed a little, but didn't stop him, and soon he was grinding his mouth passionately against her, his tongue all but filling her mouth. Zoe began to feel uncomfortable, and tried to pull away slightly, but he put his arms around her waist, holding her in place. She squeaked, putting her hands against his chest, but he just crushed her against him, trapping her arms between them.

She felt his hand, slipping under the hem of her top and groping for her tit. Outraged, she bit his tongue.

He ripped his mouth away, his face flushed with anger.

“You'd bite  _ me, _ you little bitch? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I want you to stop now!” said Zoe. “I don't like it any more!”

Brent shook his head.

“Oh no. You said I could kiss you, so I'm gonna do it!”

Zoe pushed at his chest with her forearms, but Brent was bigger and far stronger than her. His hand was back under her top, grabbing her tit and crushing it. She tried to scream, but he forced his mouth over hers again, swallowing any noise she made.

Terrified and furious, she brought her knee up as hard as she could, aiming for his balls. His thigh deflected much of the force, but it was enough to make him loosen his grip. She followed it up with a solid smack of her forehead to his nose, sending his head reeling back.

Making her hands into claws, she raked at his eyes with her short nails, trying to kick at his kneecaps at the same time, controlling her panic as much as she could and trying to focus her attention.

She'd learned her fighting technique from her brother.

Brent staggered backwards, grabbing a handful of her top as he went, pulling her up short when she tried to back off. Snarling, he punched her in the stomach.

All the air left her lungs and she doubled over, gasping for breath.

“Fucking bitch!” growled Brent. “Do you have any idea how many girls out there would want to be in your position?”

“Fuck you….” she wheezed. He laughed.

“If you say so, Zoe.”

She felt something hard hit her jaw. She saw stars, tasted bright, coppery blood in her mouth. Brent grinned down at her, the chunk of wood he held in his hand raising to hit her again.

Instead of trying to back away, she put her head down and used it as a battering ram, thunking into the area below his ribs with as much force as she could muster. He gasped, dropping the wood and clutching at his chest.

His other hand released the fistful of fabric he was using to hold her in place and, freed, she turned to escape.

Something caught her ankle - his foot - tripping her and sending her crashing face first onto the ground.

Scrabbling with both hands, she tried to crawl away, but felt his hands tighten around her calves.

“Stop fighting!” yelled Brent.

“Fuck off!” screamed Zoe in retort, and howled with despair as his weight descended on her, flattening her where she lay.

He was so heavy. She tried to push herself up, but he laughed at her struggles, forcing her back down.

He crawled up her body, his hard-on a vile pressure against her ass, his hand squeezing beneath her to snag the waistband of her panties.

“You should be fucking grateful!” he told her, his voice guttural in her ear. “A little nobody like you with a crazy brother, getting fucked by me? You don't know how lucky you are!”

She sobbed in a blend of fear and anger as she heard the fabric rip, felt her panties being torn away from her. He levered himself up slightly, groping for the zip of his jeans.

Lucas had shown her how to fight back, which places were the most sensitive and therefore the most painful to hit, but she couldn't reach any of them. Screaming in anguish and fury, she tried to buck him off, but he just laughed and pressed his groin against her ass.

Then, above it all, she heard rapid footsteps.

“What the…?”

It was as far as Brent got.

Lucas’s foot seemed to come out of nowhere, powering into Brent’s face, his nose caving in with a nauseating crackle.

_ “Get the fuck off my sister you cock guzzling piece of shit!” _

Lucas was normally a silent fighter, saving all his energy for the fray, but his fury echoed through the swamp, setting birds squawking.

Brent gave a gargling scream which was cut off abruptly as Lucas dealt him another kick, this one connecting with the bobbing lump of his exposed adam’s apple.

He rolled off Zoe, clutching at his throat with silent agony. Zoe scrambled to her feet, Lucas’s hands under her elbows to help her up.

She was shaking all over, adrenaline and fear chattering her teeth together.

Lucas’s eyes were wide, taking in the swelling on her jaw, the blood lining her gums. His lips twisted in rage.

“Brent, you motherfucker!”

He darted round Zoe to where Brent rolled on the ground, the sole of his sneaker sinking deep into the prone boy's stomach.

“You hurt my fuckin’  _ sister _ ?” he yelled, almost incredulously.

Brent writhed helplessly as more kicks landed, finding his ribs, his crotch, his knees - wherever Lucas could find a space. Zoe watched as her brother danced around him, his lips peeled back from his teeth, laying into him again and again.

Finally, Lucas subsided, out of breath. He leaned over, his hands against his knees, panting.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” he muttered between gasps. “Fuckin’ cuntfaced shiteating asshole…”

Zoe went over to him, her trembling subsided. She put her hand on his shoulder. He glanced up at her.

“You ok, Zoe?”

She tried to nod, but halfway through the motion she burst into tears, big ugly sobs ripping through her chest.

Lucas straightened, his arms going round her.

“It's ok, Zoe, he ain't gonna hurt you no more, sshhh……”

She crushed her face against his chest, feeling the zip of his hoodie biting into her forehead.

“He was gonna…..oh, Lucas, that fucker!” she wailed, balling her fists in impotent anger.

Lucas released her, pushing her away gently. He walked over to the patch of grass where Brent had pinned her, staring down at the scrap of cloth that was all that remained of her torn panties.

“Like that was it, Brent?” he said quietly, and the sudden low volume of his voice caused her tears to dry up.

Lucas turned to where Brent lay, still clutching his throat, his face purple as air struggled past his crushed throat.

Lucas lowered himself onto his knees next to his head, peering down into the pleading eyes.

“You was gonna rape my sister, that it?” His voice was soft, almost conversational.

Brent tried to shake his head but Lucas put his hand out, clamping it over Brent’s face, holding it still. There was a grim smile on his face, one that Zoe knew always meant trouble.

“Don't try ‘n’ deny it, fucknuts. You woulda done it if I ain't come along. Y’see, I was meant to be in detention tonight, but I looked outta the window, an’ I saw you followin’ Zoe, an’ I thought to maself: ‘Why would Brent Chambers be goin’ after my little sister?’ Hmm. So I jest had to find out, didn't I?”

Lucas turned his head, fixing his gaze on her.

“Look away, Zoe,” he said calmly.

“Uh-uh.” Zoe folded her arms defiantly.

Lucas raised his eyebrows.

“Seriously? Yer gonna argue with me now?”

She shrugged.

“Course I am. Whatever you're gonna do, I wanna see it happen.”

Lucas sighed.

“Ok, Zoe, but don't say I didn't warn ya!” Lucas picked up the lump of wood Brent had dropped, grasping it with both hands, bracing his feet apart. “Better stand back, though. This might get messy.”

Zoe looked down to where Brent was struggling to get away, squirming on his belly like a worm.

“Can't I help?”

Lucas shook his head, his expression serious and immovable.

“No fuckin’ way. I don't want this on your conscience. There's still hope for you.” He looked down at his hands, fingers gripping the flaking bark, pale against the rich brown.

“Ain't none for me,” he said, and brought the wood down.

 

He'd been right: It did get messy.

By the time Lucas had finished there were gaudy streaks of blood splashed all over his jeans, soaking into the sleeves of his hoodie. He'd been methodical, the way he often worked on things, concentrating on applying the wood evenly over Brent’s head until the grain gave way and it crumbled to splinters in his hands.

He'd barely broken a sweat, his arms rising and falling with the regularity of the pendulum in the living room grandfather clock. When blood splattered his face, he blinked it away. When some touched his lips, he licked it off.

Brent’s head didn't look like a head any more - rather it looked like the cheap ground beef that Marguerite bought when they were on a tight budget, only with chips of bone speckling it instead of fat. At some point, when Brent’s face had caved in, his eyes had come loose, with no sockets to support them. They'd rolled about on the ends of bloody strands that looked like spaghetti until a couple of Lucas’s blows had mushed them up, smashing them into gooey, dribbling pulp.

Lucas brushed the splinters and dust from his hands. His own ice blue eyes regarded her from the depths of red mask he wore, watching her reaction.

“How d’ya feel about me now, Zoe?” he asked, trying to sound casual, but she could hear the concern in his voice, the worry that he'd forever driven her away with his barbarity.

“I think….” said Zoe carefully, “...that you're the best brother a girl could have. Just don't ever expect me to admit it ever again.”

Lucas laughed, a weary sound but genuine.

“Ok. Deal.”

He looked down at what remained of the captain of the school football team.

“Well, we better get him in the swamp fer the gators to dispose of, I guess.”

He bent and grabbed an arm, gritting his teeth and groaning with effort as he heaved the body over onto its side. After a moment's consideration, Zoe joined him, helping him roll the corpse towards the water, using her legs when it got too heavy or there was nowhere to grip. They chatted together, Lucas telling her of the circumstances that had led to him calling Mrs Munroe a bitch, Zoe telling him about how she'd made Chelsea laugh so hard at lunch that she'd snorted milk out of her nose.

When the body finally hit the water, they watched as it sank, bubbles oozing up around it.

Lucas put his hands around his mouth.

“Suppertime!” he called, and they saw the gators detach themselves curiously from the banks opposite.

They began to walk home. Lucas sighed as he peeled off his hoodie, using the unblemished inside to mop his face.

“Well that's fuckin’ ruined,” he complained. “Was my favourite, too.”

“I been savin’ my allowance,” said Zoe. “I'll get you another.”

“Ain't you been savin that for somethin’ else?”

“Yeah, but it don't matter, Lucas, honest. I seen one o’ them LCS hoodies in town, you want one o’ them?”

“Hell yeah!”

“Green or blue?”

“Um….green. Yeah, a green one. Thanks, Zoe.”

“Aw, it's the least I can do! Hey, Lucas?”

“What?”

“First one to make it home gets first choice o’ tv tonight!”

Without waiting for a response, Zoe sprinted off, kicking up dust with her heels.

“Shit! That ain't fair!”

Lucas broke into a run.

 

“What you starin’ at?”

Lucas’s voice brought her back to the present. He was leaning against the side of the house, beer bottle hanging down by his side, absent-mindedly scratching the hair on his lower belly.

He scowled at her.

Zoe grinned.

“Just starin’ at the best brother a girl could have,” she said.

Lucas snorted, but there was the ghost of a smile on his face.

“Aw, ain't that sweet!” exclaimed Jack, draining his beer and picking up his hammer. “C’mon, son - time’s a wastin’!”

Lucas sighed, setting down his beer.

“Zoe? Could you maybe persuade Momma not to cook chitterlings for supper? I don't think I could take it…..”

“Sure, Lucas. I'll do my best,” said Zoe, and wandered back into the house.


	3. 7 Days Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas can't say one word about his Momma’s cooking without getting yelled at.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is what it is :/
> 
> More flashbacks, more family drama.......

Momma didn't cook chitterlings that night, much to Jack’s disappointment but to Zoe and Lucas’s immense relief. Instead, she made pot roast, which didn't actively make Zoe want to puke but didn't exactly enthuse her either. Marguerite often refused to divulge what type of meat she'd used in it till they'd already eaten some, and when times were hard it could be any fucking thing.

She had also baked brownies, though, like Zoe had predicted. They were Lucas’s favourite and Marguerite often made them when she felt like he'd had a hard time. When they'd been at school, Marguerite had baked them often.

The two men walked into the house as Marguerite was opening the oven. Lucas went into immediate meerkat mode, stretching his neck and sniffing the air.

“Fuckin’ brownies! Hell, yeah!”

“Lucas…..” reproached Jack half-heartedly. He'd long given up arguing with his son about his language, but felt that as a responsible parent he should make a token complaint. He pulled off his dirty boots by the door and shuffled into the kitchen in his socks.

Marguerite was busy slapping Lucas’s hands away from the brownie pan.

“I ain't even cut them yet!” she laughed. “And they're still hot, cher.”

Jack wandered over, taking deep breaths theatrically.

“Somethin’ sure smells good in here,” he bellowed. “What is it now?”

“Must be supper,” said Marguerite, cutting the brownies into squares under Lucas’s watchful eyes. His fingers twitched, ready to snatch.

Jack shook his head.

“Naw…..It's somethin’ else….” He leaned closer to his wife. “It must be you!”

He swept his arms around her, hugging her from behind and burying his face in the side of her neck with a growl.

Marguerite giggled, and Lucas took advantage of her distraction to steal a brownie.

Zoe watched him toss it from hand to hand as he retreated with his prize before wolfing it down, still hot, in the safety of the living room.

“Don't spoil your supper!” Marguerite called to him as she flapped a dish towel at her husband.

Jack did something to her that made her squeal before giving her one last squeeze and wandering into the living room.

Zoe watched it all from the table: Marguerite brushing down her apron, blushing like a schoolgirl; Jack descending onto the old couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table; Lucas slouched on the footstool, licking chocolate from his fingers as he skipped through tv channels rapidly.

They were so fucking normal. The slap in the face the previous night had been forgiven and forgotten - on the surface at least. She knew how Lucas held grudges. Marguerite was happily opening a beer for Jack and bringing it in to him, the king on his throne, despite not knowing whether this would be his one and only drink that night or the beginning of a binge.

“Toss over the clicker, son. I wanna see the weather reports.”

Lucas scowled but threw the tv remote onto his father's lap before wandering into the kitchen to see if he could sneak another brownie. Zoe watched Jack carefully as he took a drink of beer. Sometimes she could tell what sort of night it was going to be by the way he drank that first beer. He took a careful swallow, smacking his lips in appreciation the way he always did, before leaning forward and placing the bottle carefully on the table. Zoe felt herself relax.

As if feeling her attention, Jack craned his neck, looking over his shoulder at her.

“Watcha doin’ sittin’ all by yerself, Punkin? Why don't ya come an’ keep yer daddy company?”

Zoe slipped off her chair and went into the living room. Jack was a very physical man, whether he was displaying anger or affection, and he loved to cuddle. Even though Zoe felt she was far too old for it, tonight she was pleased with him: He'd apologised to Lucas and was drinking sensibly, so she felt he deserved a reward.

She sat down on the couch next to him, creeping under his outstretched arm and resting her head on his shoulder. He smelled like the outdoors and work sweat and hops. Jack settled his arm round her shoulders, sighing contentedly as he flicked through the channels.

In the kitchen, her mother was rapping Lucas’s knuckles with a ladle as he tried to snag another brownie.

“Aw, c’mon, Momma….pleease….”

Marguerite was pretending to be stern, but she was often putty in her son’s hands, especially if he decided to be sweet to her. And he  _ could _ be sweet when he wanted, although sadly he didn't seem to want to all that often any more.

He worried Zoe sometimes. So often he seemed to be seething with unspent anger, constantly on the edge of exploding, his discontent with his life overflowing like water in an overfilled bath tub.

He'd be 23 in a couple of weeks, but at a time of life when he should have the world at his feet, he barely left the house. It shouldn't be that way. He had potential - even Zoe could see that. Hell, she still owned the homemade taser Lucas had built her after the Brent incident, cobbled together from bits and pieces he'd scavenged from their father's workshop, and if he could do that, what else would he be able to achieve with the right opportunities?

Zoe sighed, the train of her thoughts depressing her.

“What's the news say about the storm?” she asked her father.

“Well, it's gonna be a bad ‘un, like I said. They expect it in a few days. We got a little time to prepare. Worried about some o’ them old trees at the edge o’ the swamp, though, don't know if they'll hold out, so some o’ the other buildin’s might bear the brunt o’ that….”

Zoe let him talk, knowing he liked to speak his plans aloud, get them in order that way. His voice was a rumble in his chest that was almost soothing with its rhythm, the music of it rising and falling. After her broken sleep last night and the aftermath of the sherry experiment, she was dog-tired, and she let herself drift off listening to him, as though he were reading a bedtime story.

 

She wasn't awake, but she wasn't asleep either - she hovered in that twilight area part way between both, aware of what was going on around her even as her mind floated away.

 

_ Their parents had saved to send them off to college but when hard times had hit all the money had gone. Neither Marguerite or Jack had ever been specific about what the hard times had been, but Zoe knew it had been bad and it had been something to do with her brother. _

_ She remembered Momma taking Lucas off several times, taking the bus into town while Jack stayed home with Zoe. Although Zoe had been happy to have her father all to herself, she'd been jealous of Lucas going on the bus, especially when he'd come back bearing a new jigsaw puzzle. _

_ “Why does Lucas get a new toy?” _

_ “Hush now, Punkin. Lucas had to go through somethin’ scary today. Never mind that - you were tellin’ me about this here stuffed bear….what was his name again?” _

_ “She's a girl! Silly daddy…..” _

 

_ Her parents talked in hushed tones. She overheard some of what was said, though she didn't understand it. _

_ What was a frontal lobe anyway? _

_ Lucas had finished his puzzle the same day he got it. Lucas could do stuff like that super fast. He was real smart, no matter what the kids at school said. _

_ Oliver was the worst. Zoe and Lucas called him Stoopid Oliver and Zoe once spit in his milk when he wasn't looking. When Lucas found out he'd given her half his candy bar. _

_ Zoe realised she hadn't seen Oliver around for a while. Maybe he'd moved away like Karleen Clark had. _

 

_ Zoe wanted to play with Lucas but she wasn't allowed. It wasn't fair. Lucas thought up the best games. He took her places they weren't allowed to go and showed her neat stuff, like the dead swamp rat he'd found and taken apart. He showed her its heart. It was tiny. He also showed her some of his experiments, where he'd left two dead rats in different parts of the swamp. The one in the sun was dry and twisted but the one in the shade was wet and stinky. She'd thought it was interesting, but when she'd told daddy about it later he'd gone pale and told her to go to her room. _

_ Later on daddy sat her on his knee and asked her in a very serious voice if Lucas had ever done anything bad to her. _

_ She told him about Lucas snapping her favourite crayon in half and hoped she wasn't getting her brother into trouble, but daddy seemed happy. _

 

“Zoe, are you asleep?” Jack sounded amused.

“Not really, daddy. Just restin’ my eyes.”

She felt strange after her brief doze. Lots of old memories seemed to be surfacing recently, long forgotten stuff that occurred to her at random. Most of it was unsettling, and she couldn't be sure if the jumbled assortment of imagery was real or fabricated by her own, restless mind.

They gathered round the table, Jack extending his hands either side to signal that he was going to say grace. Zoe had stopped believing in God long ago, but she kept up the pretence for her parent's sake.

She didn't think Lucas had ever believed.

“I'm a man o’ science,” he told her once. “I ain't got time for all that horseshit. ‘sides, if it was all real, I'd more likely be a supporter of his opposition, y’know? Satan seems like he'd be lots more fun.”

Zoe held her mother's hand on one side, Lucas his father's on the other. They both had an understanding that neither of them would participate any more than necessary during prayers, just enough to humour their parents, and instead used the time for their own private amusement.

They had a running bet going: Lucas would steal food from the table whilst their parents had their eyes closed and see if he could eat it before they had finished grace. If he hadn't swallowed by the time they opened their eyes, it was his turn to help with the dishes. If he had, it was Zoe’s turn.

This evening, he took the opportunity to steal a hunk of cornbread and stuffed in his mouth in one go, panicking when he realised he'd taken too large a piece. As per the rules, Zoe was allowed to try and distract him or make him laugh, but this time she was too fascinated by his endeavours to try. It reminded her of the time she'd seen a snake on the Discovery Channel ingest an entire warthog. She half expected to see her brother's jaw unhinge.

He reached for his water glass, but she kicked him under the table. He wasn't allowed a drink to wash it down. The rules had been carefully devised and maintained for years, and she wasn't about to let him off the hook now.

Luckily for Lucas, their father had a lot to talk to god about that evening.

“....and Lord, if you see fit, lend us strength in the coming days of the storm, protect our home…..”

Lucas chewed frantically, and Zoe had to bite her lips to keep from spluttering laughter. That piece of cornbread looked drier than a popcorn fart, and no matter how hard he worked it, it didn't seem to be going anywhere.

“.....and thank you, Lord, for the productive day we've had, and for the time spent with my son ….”

Lucas swallowed with a huge effort, his eyes watering, but managed a smug grin in Zoe’s direction accompanied by a furtive middle finger as their father wound up.

”Amen…” Jack intoned.

”Ay-men indeed!” agreed Lucas cheerfully.

Zoe glowered at him across the table.

“Zoe said she'd take my turn doin’ the dishes tonight Momma,” said Lucas, picking up his fork and winking at her.

“Is that true, Zoe?”

“Yes,” sighed Zoe, resigned.

Next time she went into town, she was buying some of that hot sauce. See who had the last laugh then.

 

After supper, Zoe was too tired to do anything except go to bed. She left her family watching tv, Marguerite and Jack on the couch, Lucas sprawled on the floor by his mother's feet, a stack of brownies heaped on a paper towel on the table next to him.

She paused in the doorway, looking in at them, watching her father put his arm round her mother's shoulder. Lucas was eating a brownie, cramming it into his mouth as he browsed his phone one-handed, and almost absent-mindedly leaned his head against Marguerite’s knee. Her mother's hand crept out to tentatively scuff up the fuzz on the back of his head, and for a wonder, he allowed it.

Zoe felt pang of something like homesickness, which was odd considering she was only standing a few feet away from them. Dysfunctional though they were, they were hers - the only thing she could call her own, and she realised at that moment how much she loved them.

She snorted at her own sentimentality as she climbed the stairs. Probably getting her period or something.

 

Zoe slept fitfully despite her weariness. She didn't know if it was the approaching storm, but it was like her father said - as though the whole of nature were holding its breath. The atmosphere was charged and tense, making her restless, and she tossed and turned till her sheets were a tangled knot around her legs.

She'd been dreaming more than usual, too, her nighttime consciousness cut up into chunks of short, confused drama. She almost wished there was some more of the vile sherry.

Finally admitting defeat, she got out of bed, pulling on her old gym shorts and wandering downstairs.

Her parents had gone to bed hours before, climbing the stairs and talking softly, Jack making Marguerite giggle at something he said. Zoe had put her pillow over her head when the rhythmic creaking of the bedsprings had begun. She supposed it was nice, in theory, that her parents still had an active sex life, but actually hearing it was fucking gross.

The lower floor was dark and silent, the ticking of the grandfather clock sounding like the house’s heartbeat. She'd half expected to find Lucas draped across the living room couch like he often did when he was too lazy to get his ass up the stairs, but he'd apparently found the energy to get himself to bed.

Zoe poured herself a glass of sweet tea and settled herself down to lounge in front of the tv, flicking through the channels.

Shit. Shit. Shit. There was never anything good on. They'd had cable once upon a time, but that was long gone. Things had been a lot more lively then, her father inviting his buddies round to watch big games, her mother in her element as she made sandwiches and potato salad for the hungry horde.

Zoe had loved it when she was little and the men came round, getting plenty of attention in the form of pinched cheeks and compliments, ensconcing herself on her father's knee as the action started, soaking up the testosterone that oozed from the raggle-taggle bunch with their scarred knuckles and sun-burned faces.

Lucas had never joined in, despite Jack’s coaxing, shunning the rowdy, beery crowd, preferring to loiter in the kitchen with his mother and be fed the treats she dispensed as she cooked. It was a mystery to her how her brother had remained so skinny over the years as his capacity for food had always been endless. Metabolism, she guessed. She was skinny herself, but she didn't eat much.

Jack had often tried to interest his son in sports. Jack had been captain of his school football team and all round jock, competing in track and wrestling as well as football, but Lucas was never really into it. He'd tried, for his father's sake, becoming reasonably good at baseball eventually, but his participation had dwindled after…. Zoe frowned. She couldn't remember why he'd stopped playing. Had there been an incident? She thought back, scouring her memory for any clue. She could recall Lucas winning a game, and Jack being so pleased he'd mounted his son's baseball bat on a plaque. He'd dined out on the story for a long time afterwards, telling guests about how Lucas had saved the day at the last moment, describing in detail his son's speed and the narrowness of the victory, but after that…..

Lucas would sometimes watch a ballgame with his father, just to keep the old man happy, but even that had stopped. Now when baseball came on tv, Jack would change the channel.

Zoe dozed in front of the tv, some crappy talk show being replaced with an equally crappy movie. Something with a giant alligator in it. Lucas had always liked gators, she remembered sleepily. Had a big stuffed one upstairs in their old room, faded with age, leaking stuffing from many war wounds. What had he called it? Something weird….

 

_ Lucas and Zoe stood at the edge of the swamp, watching the gators sunbathe on the banks. They'd grown up accustomed to the presence of the huge reptiles, and though they treated them with a healthy respect, as they'd been taught, they weren't afraid of them. _

_ They weren't meant to be playing there, but if you told Lucas not to do something, he always did it, and he'd invariably take Zoe along for the ride. Uncle Ralph called him “a bad influence”, but Aunt Sylvia called him something else. The spawn of Satan. Zoe knew what frogspawn was, as Lucas had dug a pond once and some frogs came to live there. Their eggs were like jello with little black dots in, and Zoe had been confused when Aunt Sylvia likened Lucas to frogspawn. He didn't look anything like it. _

_ Their parents had stopped talking to Aunt Sylvia right after that, and Zoe was glad. The woman was always quoting bible verses and when she gave birthday gifts it was usually something crappy, like a picture book of Jesus stories. She used to nag Marguerite to get Lucas baptised, even though he already had been. _

_ Aunt Sylvia was a b-i-t-c-h, Lucas said. _

_ That day, Lucas had taken her to the swamp because he wanted to look for gator eggs. _

_ He'd read about something called “imprinting”, and wanted to see if it was true. Zoe thought he'd meant printing, and couldn't see how a bunch of lizards could do that. She'd cut a star in half a potato once and dipped it in paint to make a picture, and it had been hard. _

_ Lucas had laughed. _

_ “Not printin’, Zoe -  _ im _ printin’. When a baby gator hatches outta its egg, first thing it sees is the momma gator, right?” _

_ “Right. ‘less it sees a log or a rock or somethin’.” _

_ Lucas waved his hand. _

_ “Yeah, yeah. Anyways, it sees its momma, an’ cuz it ain't seen anythin’ else yet, it sorta knows that it's a gator and that its momma is its momma. Ya get me?” _

_ Zoe shook her head. _

_ “Aw, I ain't ‘splainin’ it right. Don't matter though. I'm fixin ta get me an egg, hatch it out, so the first thing it sees is me. Then it'll think I'm its momma.” _

_ Zoe laughed at the thought of Lucas being a momma, wearing an apron and singing around the house. _

_ Lucas sighed, clearly out of patience. _

_ “Whatever, Zoe. I'm havin’ a pet gator, an’ when it's all big I'll take it ta school an’ let it eat all the snotty kids.” _

_ “And Missus Jefferson,” said Zoe grimly. Missus Jefferson was a booger and was always telling Zoe to be more ladylike. _

_ “Ok, Missus Jefferson too,” said Lucas magnanimously. _

_ Lucas jumped down into the water. He had a big stick, to test how deep the water was, he said, and to smack gators. He was wearing his new OshKosh overalls, as he'd outgrown his old ones, and Zoe thought Momma might be mad if Lucas came home soaked in swamp water and mud, but Lucas didn't care, just waded right on in. The water reached his knees, then his waist.  _

_ One of the gators opened its eyes, watching the approaching boy with interest. Zoe squeaked in alarm. _

_ “Lucas! Watch out!” _

_ Lucas waved a hand over his shoulder, unconcerned. The water was chest height now, and Lucas had to lift his arms. Zoe clutched a nearby tree, her terrified gaze fixed on her brother. More of the gators were stirring now, taking note of his presence, but Lucas kept wading onward, testing in front of him with the stick before taking a step. His entire attention was focused on his progress, and he didn't see the biggest gator slide almost casually into the water. _

_ “Lucas!” squealed Zoe. _

_ Lucas finally looked up, seeing the ripples in the water approaching him, and stood very still. _

_ Zoe wanted to run off and get her father, but she knew Lucas would get in trouble and would never forgive her. So she watched, tears of terror stinging her eyes and running down her chubby cheeks. _

_ Lucas held his stick up, brandishing it like a club, waiting for the alligator to get closer. He didn't seem scared at all. The gator drifted up to him, unblinking eyes above the level of the water, the tip of its nose just protruding. It stopped in front of the boy. _

_ On the banks, the other gators appeared to be watching, not moving. Zoe had thought they would follow the other one, but none of them budged. _

_ The leader stared at Lucas, its upper jaw rising slightly so the beginnings of a row of teeth could be seen. Lucas held the stick up, but didn't bring it down like Zoe expected - just stared at the yellow eyes in front of him. _

_ The swamp noises had all but disappeared, as if all the bugs and birds were scared to make a sound, and Zoe was silent with them, holding her breath. As she watched, the gator’s mouth slowly closed, bubbles bursting on the surface of the water, and with a motion of its giant tail, it turned away and began to swim off. _

_ Lucas lowered his stick, began to wade again. _

_ He reached the opposite bank where the other alligators basked, but they paid him no mind. He stepped over and between them in his soggy tennis shoes like they were logs, and not one of them made a move toward him. He searched the bank and the long grass looking for eggs, crouching down in the undergrowth, probing with his hands. _

_ “Ain't no nests, Zoe,” he called, disappointed. “Shit!” _

_ All the tension gone, Zoe laughed at the bad word. Lucas continued to comb the swamp for a while before admitting defeat, but as he turned to come back he paused, reaching into the long grass and pulling out something blue. Curious, he turned it over and over in his hands. _

_ “What is it?” called Zoe. _

_ “Aw, it ain't nothin’,” said Lucas. “Jest a sneaker.” _

_ He drew back his arm and hurled it deep into the bayou, the small, child-sized shoe turning end over end as it sailed through the air before hitting the water with a loud plop. _

_ Lucas picked his way back through the dozing gators and re-entered the water. _

_ He reached Zoe without incident, dumping his stick on the ground, dripping water. His shoes squelched at they walked. _

_ “Lucas, why didn't that gator eat you?” asked Zoe. _

_ Lucas kicked at a rock, sending it scuttling into the bushes. _

_ “It wouldn't dare,” he said grimly. “Dintcha know, Zoe? I'm King o’ the Gators!” _

_ “Yay!” cheered Zoe. “King Lucas!” _

 

_ That evening Zoe made him a crown, cut out of paper with foil jewels pasted on it. She was proud of her Gator King brother. _

 

Zoe woke with a stiff neck, her fuzzy mind trying to make sense of where she was. The movie had finished, replaced by some cheesy game show. Just as well, she thought. Stupid movie had given her weird dreams.

She heard a noise in the kitchen and propped herself up, peering over the back of the couch. Lucas stood in front of the open fridge, shirtless in the muggy heat, his pants slung low on his hips, his feet bare.

“Whatcha doin’?” she asked.

“Fuck does it look like?” he replied, sticking his arm into the fridge and bringing it out with a piece of leftover cornbread in his hand. He gnawed on it, surveying the meagre contents of the fridge in disappointment, finally slamming it shut.

“Couldn't sleep?” he asked, wandering into the living room.

She shook her head.

“Me neither. Feels weird round here, don't it?”

“Uh-huh. Mus’ be the storm I guess….”

“Naw, ain't that. Somethin’ else. Don't know what, though…..” he trailed off, perching on the arm of the couch, staring at the tv screen.

“Lucas, did we ever go to the swamp to get gator eggs?” asked Zoe. It was bugging her that she couldn't tell a dream from a memory.

Lucas looked at her, surprised. 

“Yeah, we did! Didn't think y’all would remember that.”

“You wanted a pet gator.”

“That's right. Forgot all about that….” He snorted. “Like the old man would o’ allowed that.”

“Did somethin’ strange happen?”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Like what?”

“Like you starin’ down an alligator an’ it not eatin’ you.”

He stared at her for a long time. 

“Naw...pretty sure I whacked it with a chunk o’ wood an’ it fucked off. ...Your version sounds cooler, though.”

Zoe wanted to ask more - wanted to ask about the child's sneaker he'd tossed into the water - but the memory was disturbing for some reason and she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

She heaved herself off the couch.

“Well, I'm back off ta bed. It's all yours.”

He slid into her place, settled his head on a pillow.

“See ya later, masturbator,” she called over her shoulder as she left.

“In a while, pedophile,” he responded, changing the tv channel.

Zoe laughed and went upstairs.

  
  


_ 10/3 _

_ I can't say one word about Mama's cooking without getting yelled at! _

_ Fuck You! _

 

“You all right, Momma?”

Marguerite was rolling pastry for a pie, and her face was flushed.

She smiled, though it was a little wonky.

“I'm fine, cher. Just a little hot in here, is all.”

Zoe looked at her in concern. She'd noticed her mother's behaviour becoming a little erratic of late, and her face became rosy at odd moments. She was worried she was ill.

“Sit down, Momma - I'll make supper.”

“Oh, no! I can do it. Really.”

“Uh-uh. You relax. Watch some tv an’ have a glass o’ tea or somethin’.”

“Well…..if you're sure…..”

Marguerite left reluctantly, throwing a backward glance over her shoulder as she walked out of the kitchen. Zoe knew her mother took her role as housekeeper very seriously and loved to take care of her family, but in Zoe’s opinion she needed to chill the fuck out occasionally and take it easy.

She waited till she heard the tv click on, some shitty daytime soap just starting, and went to the fridge.

Half an hour later the apple pie was in the oven and the chicken spitting in the skillet on the stove. Zoe had looked up a recipe from the Food Network on her phone and she was ridiculously proud of the result.

She poured two glasses of tea and took one in to her mother.

Marguerite looked up anxiously as she came in.

“Is everything ok? Did you put the pie in? How's the chicken doing?”

“It's all under control, Momma,” Zoe assured her, handing her the tea. “Don't worry. Y’all should let me do more, take a break now and then.”

“But I like to be busy, Zoe. Makes me feel useful! Besides, the devil makes work for idle hands.”

Zoe laughed at the thought of her mother doing something wicked.

“Anyways, how you been feelin’, Momma? You ain't seemed right lately.”

Marguerite peered at her, sipping her tea. She seemed almost embarrassed about the question.

“Well, I didn't want to tell anyone, cher, but…..I think I'm starting The Change.”

“The Change?” Zoe could hear the capitalised letters but didn't know what her mother meant.

“ _ The menopause….. _ ” whispered Marguerite, as though she were discussing some depraved sex act.

“Oh!” Zoe knew, technically, what the menopause was, but wasn't sure what it entailed. Something about hormones? “Are you….I mean, does it hurt…?”

Marguerite laughed.

“No, honey, it don't hurt. But it's these damned hot flashes! Make me feel like I'm on fire! And I get real emotional for no reason……”

She trailed off, and Zoe remembered the previous week when Marguerite had burst into tears over a burned biscuit.

“Does daddy know?”

“I think he suspects, but you know I don't like talkin’ to him about women's problems……” said Marguerite primly.

Zoe shook her head. They'd been married for over 20 years and had two kids together, and her mother still wouldn't even mention periods in front of her father.

“Well, I think y’all should tell him, Momma. Else he's gonna start wonderin’ if you're sick, like I did.”

“Maybe…..” conceded Marguerite, but she wrung her hands uncomfortably at the thought.

Zoe went back into the kitchen to keep an eye on supper. She got out her phone and looked up the symptoms for the menopause, reading the list with growing revulsion.

_ Hot flashes - Night sweats - Mood swings - Fatigue - Hair loss or thinning - Irregular periods - Loss of libido -  _ ugh! -  _ Vaginal dryness -  _ double ugh! The list went on.

Poor Momma. Fuckin’ men didn't know how lucky they were!

 

Lucas and Jack came clattering in as Zoe was setting the table. Marguerite had turned off the tv and started bustling round the kitchen minutes before and was busy loading the plates. The smell of fried chicken was thick in the air, the apple pie cooling on the counter.

“Marguerite, I'm so hungry my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut, and that supper looks fit for a king,” said Jack.

He swept her up in his habitual hug, lifting her off her feet, and she laughed happily. Zoe couldn't help but smile at her mother's mood.

All of Lucas’s attention was on the plates Zoe was carrying to the table, though, the fried chicken crispy and glistening.

“Holy shit, Momma! That looks fuckin’ great.”

“Lucas…..”

Lucas flung himself into his chair happily, picking up a piece of chicken and tearing into it. His eyes widened after the first bite.

“Jesus H Christ, that's fuckin’ delicious, Momma! Why can't you make it like that all the time?”

Zoe winced. Well-meaning though his words were, Lucas couldn't give a compliment if his life depended on it. She remembered when their mother had bought a new pair of pants and asked him how she looked. “ _ Real nice, Momma. Your ass don't look fat at all,” _ he'd replied, and had retreated in bewilderment at the shit storm he'd created.

She looked over at her mother, who'd stopped in the kitchen doorway carrying a serving bowl full of corn. Her eyes filled abruptly with tears, her lower lip trembling.

“Momma……” Zoe began, but Marguerite hastily put the bowl on the table and fled from the room.

Blissfully unaware, Lucas started in on his second piece, mumbling with enjoyment.

Their father stomped into the room, his mouth twisted with anger.

“Lucas, godammit! When will you ever learn to keep your mouth shut?”

Lucas looked up in surprise, chicken grease glistening on his lips.

“What now?” he asked in disgust.

“You've upset your mother, boy! She just ran out cryin’!”

“Why the fuck would she do that? I was jest tryin’ ta tell her how good it was!”

He was responding to his father's temper, the two of them so mule-headed that the one spurred on the other, and Zoe knew if she didn't defuse the situation soon it would transform into a full-blown argument.

“Momma didn't make it, Lucas. I did,” she said quietly.

“Really?” Lucas looked down at his chicken. “Shit, Zoe. That's good.”

“Thanks. But momma is kinda upset……”

“Well, I didn't mean nuthin’ by it….” he mused. “I better go see if she's ok, I guess.”

Surprised at her brother's sudden sensitivity,  Zoe watched him stand, wiping his fingers on his jeans. Jack had subsided, clearly equally astonished, and as Lucas left the room Zoe couldn't resist following discreetly.

Peeping round a corner, she found her mother and her brother in the main hall, Marguerite leaning on the little table laden with family photos, wiping her eyes. Lucas was talking to her softly, rubbing her shoulder, his face close to hers. Zoe couldn't hear what was being said, but at his words Marguerite straightened, her face relaxing into a smile. She turned to her son, opening her arms, and to Zoe’s shock, Lucas stepped into them, accepting her hug and returning one of his own. Zoe retreated, dumbfounded, as she saw her brother place a soft, apologetic kiss on their mother's cheek.

She got back to her seat just in time, as Lucas came breezing into the room moments afterwards.

“She's ok now,” he said, sitting down and picking up his chicken like nothing had happened. “Jest let her compose herself, she'll be right back. Though you should take her to the doctor, I reckon,” he told his father, taking a huge bite.

“The doctor? What for?” Jack’s forehead creased in a frown.

“Well, she's likely startin’ the menopause,” said Lucas through a mouthful of batter. “Would make sense. She's about the right age, an’ it would explain all them hot flushes an’ mood swings she been havin’....”

He stopped chewing, looking up at Zoe and their father with an expression of annoyance.

“What? The fuck did I say now?”


	4. 5 Days Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe has some "me" time with a lot of recovered memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I try to explain, amongst other things, why Grandma's room has a broken shotgun in it.
> 
> Also some heavy foreshadowing going down.
> 
> Thanks to kittenmoon for her help with proofreading.

_ 10/5 _

_ All I did was look in on Zoe when she was doing yoga, and she calls me a pervert. _

_ Fuck You! _

 

The next couple of days passed without much incident. Marguerite made a doctor's appointment, and Lucas told Zoe all about HRT.

“See, they use pregnant horse piss…….”

She shut him up in disgust, but a quick Google check confirmed that he was right.

Although she was glad Momma’s problem had been identified, Zoe still felt unsettled herself. Her emotions confused her, snapping back and forth as they did. She kept her feelings concealed well enough, so nobody knew that she felt like weeping when she looked on the calendar and saw her parent's wedding anniversary marked, or that she wanted to scream at Lucas when he accidentally bumped into her on his way downstairs.

By noon on October 5th, she knew she had to get out of the house for a spell.

 

Zoe had always liked it out in the swamp, having grown up with it as a neighbour. Other people had neighbours that came to visit, brought pies, swapped gossip. The Baker's neighbours were the gators and the cypress trees.

Zoe always felt there was something mysterious about it, no matter how well she knew all its secret hideouts and paths, especially with the Spanish Moss hung over everything like Halloween cobwebs. And naturally it was a great place to go if you wanted to be alone.

Zoe had often gone out there with Lucas when they were kids, further out than they were technically allowed, although when they'd been older they were permitted to kayak out and catch catfish for supper. Lucas had been shitty at fishing, as he was far too impatient, so for a while she'd gone out on her own, just to sit in the boat and absorb the busy silence.

She loved the water, still and secretive. She loved the trees, with their broad trunks flaring at the bottom like women in long skirts. She'd always seen the bayou as a protector, a naturally formed sentinel that created a barrier between their family and the rest of the world.

With her Gator King brother, she had always felt safe there, like nothing bad could ever happen. It had been their playground, their laboratory, their hideout. Even when Brent had sullied it with his attack, she still felt okay about it - it had been a conspirator, hiding the evidence, bearing their burden.

Her old school friend Chelsea had hated the swamp. She said it was depressing and dirty, and especially hated all the bugs, though Zoe had never been phobic about bugs. Her mother had always had a soft spot for them - especially bees. She used to grow flowers in the greenhouse just to attract them, keeping a hive at one point. For a while they'd had honey on their oatmeal every morning, but then Zoe had been stung by one and nearly died. Turned out she was allergic.

She'd always felt bad that momma had to get rid of her hives, but Marguerite had insisted it was a small sacrifice.

“My babies are far more important to me than some bugs, cher,” she said.

With all this history between her and the bayou, it seemed natural for Zoe to go out there when she was troubled.

She took her old fishing pole and went out in the boat to avoid any awkward questions.

As the boat cut through the duckweed that turned the surface of the water green, she remembered when her father used to go out “noodling” with his beer buddies - catching catfish by hand. Marguerite had put a stop to it eventually, not just because of the swamp-water sodden clothes she'd grown tired of washing, but because those very catfish were usually guarding nests of eggs, and she'd felt bad for all the abandoned babies. Zoe had never tried it. Just the thought of one of those ugly motherfuckers clamping its teeth around her fist gave her the shudders.

She passed the place where Lucas had searched for gator eggs, recognising the sloping bank from her dream memory, though there were no gators there today. She wondered if that small blue sneaker still nestled in the mud at the bottom, or if it had rotted away. Or even if it had existed at all.

The calm of her favourite place slowly began to work its magic. The low drone of insects was a constant background noise that she found soothing, punctuated by the occasional birdsong.

She was in a heavily wooded area, and as the boat glided along the sunlight dappled the water in small golden puddles.

Zoe sighed, feeling the tension slowly ebb away. It had been a good idea to come out. Maybe when she got back she could do a little yoga - she hadn't done any for a while.

 

She found a natural clearing with a raised, dry bank, and moored the boat. This place was an old discovery she hadn't visited in a long time. There was an ancient, half rotted tree stump off to one side where she'd stashed a metal box full of blankets and books. She'd planned to make some kind of den amongst the overhanging branches of the trees but had grown out of the idea before she'd gotten round to doing it.

Curious, she checked the hollow in the tree stump.

Her box was still there, red with rust now, but she lifted it out anyway, feeling the gritty dust flake away. The lid was all but sealed shut, but with a little effort she managed to pry it open.

The books inside were just the type of fodder she'd loved in her early teens - ones in which girls slightly older than she'd been felt out of place and different, only to meet a mysterious and insanely hot boy who revealed some sort of secret about them that proved that they really  _ were  _ different. Maybe they had special powers, or were the descendant of some mythical being, or had some kind of magical purpose or prophesy to fulfil….

Zoe laughed as she flicked through the waterlogged pages. She guessed that books like this were important to growing girls, to make them believe that maybe someday they wouldn't feel left out or awkward, but why did meeting some boy have to be the trigger? She'd never met a boy who'd changed her life for the better. Only assholes.

She put the books aside and dug deeper into the tin box.

Nestled on the blanket were 4 dolls made from reeds braided together. She’d crafted them herself, she remembered, after Aunt Olivia had taught her one summer, and she had made dozens of them. The ones in the box were dry and brittle with age, two of them large, the other two smaller, and she had a suspicion they'd been meant to represent her family. Curious, she reached in and picked up the bigger ones to study them, but as she lifted them out they fell apart in her hands. Frowning, she dropped the pieces onto her lap and more carefully grabbed the other two, more gently. The small one, the Zoe doll, creaked ominously but stayed together, while the skinny Lucas doll crumbled slightly, little bits falling off while the main part stayed intact.

She laid them gently on the grass next to her and surveyed the rotten heap on her lap.

Her discovery, and the destruction, bothered her more than she cared to admit, and whilst she knew it was irrational, she couldn't bring herself to just brush off her knees and scatter the remains.

Feeling silly and superstitious, she dug a hole in the damp earth with her fingers, pulling up clumps of grass and creating a cosy hollow for a grave. She tipped the pieces in, her disquiet growing as she wiped dirt from her hands and regarded the ruined dolls.

“Just fuckin’ reed dolls, Zoe,” she said aloud.

She debated adding the other two to the hole, but decided not to, and started piling the earth back in. A bug crawled over the dried up reeds as she covered them.

Aunt Sylvia had hated her dolls, she remembered. There had been an argument about it.

 

_ Sylvia and Olivia had come to visit, sitting round the table with her mother. The men - Jack, Ralph and Amos - had gone off to do manly things while the women gossiped. Zoe liked Uncle Amos and Aunt Olivia, and to a lesser extent Uncle Ralph, but she hated Aunt Sylvia. She couldn't understand why Uncle Ralph had married such a sourpuss. _

_ Aunt Sylvia had a face that made it look like she was constantly sucking lemons, her eyes small and squinty, her mouth kind of pinched and puckered. _

_ Lucas said her mouth reminded him of a dog’s butthole. _

_ Zoe was in the living room, playing with the dolls she'd made, but she could see and hear the women in the other room, though she pretended she couldn't. _

_ “They're heathen objects!” Sylvia insisted. “Are you teachin’ her voodoo, sister?” _

_ “Leave her be, Sylvia!” scoffed Olivia. “They're arts an’ crafts, is what they are, an’ they’re harmless!” _

_ “I saw  _ that boy _ playin’ with one…..Stickin’ pins in it!” _

_ Marguerite chimed in, her face stiff with unfamiliar anger. _

_ “ _ That boy _ , as you call him, is my son, Sylvia, and he has a name!” _

_ Sylvia turned to her mother, aware perhaps that she'd gone too far, but too stubborn to back down all the way. _

_ “Marguerite, I didn't mean nothin’ by it, cher! But you have to admit tha-  _ Lucas _ , well…...he ain't right….” _

_ She tried to smile, the asshole under her nose twisting with difficulty. _

_ “Now hold on there, Sylvia!” bellowed Olivia, the more tempestuous of the three women, but Marguerite raised a hand, simmering her sister down. _

_ Zoe had rarely seen Momma get mad, so she didn't understand the way her face looked now. Marguerite’s lips were very thin, her shoulders held back. _

_ “How dare you come into my house, eat my food and drink my tea, and say those words about my family?”  _

_ Her voice was deceptively quiet, so Sylvia didn't catch her tone and blundered on. _

_ “Marguerite, honey, I just think you should get the boy baptised, is all. Both o’ them, in fact. And stop Zoe makin’ those…. _ things. _ Get her a nice babydoll to play with instead.” _

_ “They were baptised when they were babies, like I've told you over an’ over……” _

_ “But it couldn't hurt to do it again, just to make sure. You know, with Lucas bein’ born out o’ wedlock, an’ all. An’ you know I heard, Zoe’s friends with that black girl, Chelsea, from town. Surely she could find some nice little white girls to play with?” _

_ Olivia sat back in her seat, shaking her head. Zoe could tell she wanted to wade in, but she was wise enough to hold back. Her eyes glinted with glee as Marguerite’s posture got stiffer still, her back a ramrod, her lips almost disappearing. _

_ “Firstly, they don't need baptising again - ‘less you think God’s blessin’ don't last more’n a few years at a time, which sounds downright blasphemous to me. Secondly, Zoe has babydolls, but she likes the ones she's made, so as far as I'm concerned, she can play with ‘em till they turn to  _ dust _. And lastly, Chelsea is a perfectly nice, sweet little girl, an’ I don't care what color her skin is, cuz I'll tell you now, she has better manners for all her tender years than you've ever had!” _

_ “Marguerite - “ _

_ Zoe jumped as her momma slammed her hand down on the table. _

_ “Don't you  _ dare _ try an’ tell me how to bring up my babies! Just because you're too dried up an’ barren to have ones o’ your own, don't mean you can walk in here an’ dictate how I raise mine!” _

_ Aunt Sylvia set her glass down on the table, her face horrified. _

_ “I did not come here to be spoken to like that!” she began, but wasn't allowed to finish. _

_ “Well get out, then!” _

_ The words were as close to a shout as Zoe had ever heard come from her mother. _

_ Sylvia stood, gathering her purse, her mouth more pinched than ever. _

_ “Don't say I didn't warn you, sister,” she said. “That boy is the spawn o’ satan. If you ask my opinion - “ _

_ “I've never asked for your goddam opinion, Sylvia, but it hasn't stopped you from givin’ it now, has it?” _

_ Sylvia stalked from the room, her heels tapping briskly on the boards as she made her way down the hall. Zoe sat clutching her dolls, hardly able to believe that her momma had said a bad word. _

_ In the living room, the two remaining women listened to Sylvia’s retreat. When they heard the door slam, Aunt Olivia burst out laughing. _

_ “Finally, Marguerite! After all these years! Was about time you took the wind outta her sails.” _

_ Marguerite rubbed her eyes. _

_ “She can't say those things about my babies….” she said, her voice quieter now, near tears. _

_ “No, she can't, and you were quite right in tellin’ her so. Don't you fret none about it, cher. You had to do it.” _

_ As discreetly as she could, Zoe left to go upstairs. _

_ Lucas was in their bedroom, fiddling with one of his inventing trophies, but he put it aside almost guiltily when she came in. _

_ “Lucas! Momma an’ Aunt Sylvia had a fight!” she reported gleefully. _

_ Lucas’s face lit up. He hated Aunt Sylvia too. _

_ “Really? Did momma hit her? Who won?” _

_ “No, there weren't no hittin’, but Momma won though. She sent Aunt Sylvia outta the house! And momma said a bad word!” _

_ “Oh yeah? What’d she say?” _

_ “She said…” Zoe lowered her voice. “Goddam.” _

_ Lucas snorted. _

_ “That ain't so bad. I know worse ones than that. Still, though…..” he looked pleased. _

_ He dug beneath the desk where he'd been working, pulling out one of the reed dolls Zoe had made. It was stuck all over with pins. _

_ “Reckon this worked after all!” exclaimed Lucas, beaming. _

  
  


Zoe didn't ever remember Aunt Sylvia coming to visit again. Uncle Ralph came to see Daddy occasionally, to go hunting or fiddle with one of their cars, but Momma made it very clear that her sister was no longer welcome.

Zoe got a few birthday cards and gifts from her for a while, before they trailed off. Lucas never got any, although Uncle Ralph would sometimes sneak by and slip him a few bucks on his birthday.

Aunt Sylvia had died a few years ago from renal cancer, although Lucas said it was all the acid in her system that had finally finished her off. They hadn't gone to her funeral. Uncle Ralph had married a Filipino woman not long afterwards.

  
  


There was an empty beer bottle under the blanket, and a copy of The Unveiled Abyss - a detective novel by Clive R O’Brian. Zoe didn't remember putting either of those things in her box.

She checked the bottle: Dulvey Beer, one of Daddy's. Her father had been brewing his own beer in the old greenhouse for years, at one stage even printing his own labels. He still brewed, carefully saving and sterilising the bottles to reuse, but he'd long since stopped bothering with labels.

Zoe flicked through The Unveiled Abyss. It was full of action, violence and foul language, which made her think that it was likely Lucas who had stashed it there. It also contained some sex scenes, not particularly graphic, but likely it was strong enough for a teenage boy to find titillating. She grimaced at the idea of Lucas punting out here to drink a beer and jerk off over the description of the protagonist's love interest’s tits. Yuck.

She did the test: Held the book by its spine and let it fall open naturally, looking at the page it exposed.

_ “Veronique lay supine on the bed, her ivory breasts heaving as Albert approached. _

_ ‘Be gentle with me, Monsieur,’ she pouted from between impossibly red lips. ‘It is my first time…’ _

_ Albert climbed on the bed next to her, his mighty organ straining at the sight of her naked body. She moaned sensually as he laid his hand on her -” _

Zoe slammed the book shut. There were yellowing stains on some of the pages that she didn't want to speculate about.

“Ew, Lucas…..”

She laid it on the grass, slightly annoyed that Lucas had tainted her private retreat. How had he known about it? She'd never even told her best friend Chelsea about it, only writing its location in her diary.

Her diary.

“That fucker!” she shouted, causing a nearby bird to take flight.

She remembered being suspicious that somebody had been looking at her diary, had even taped threads across the pages before stashing it under the mattress. At the time, she'd been afraid it was her mother, finding it whilst changing the bed sheets, and the thought of Marguerite reading about 12 year old Zoe wanting to kiss Daniel O’Reilly on the mouth had been mortifying. So she'd brought it out here. But apparently not before Lucas had read about its existence.

Part of her wanted to go back in time and punch 14 year old Lucas in the balls.

Cringing, she fished her diary out from the very bottom of the tin box and leafed through it.

_ “June 8th 2007 _

_ I wanna be a cop when I grow up but Daddy won't stop complaining. He says it's too dangerous for his little girl. Lucas is no help either. He keeps making jokes about pigs and bacon.” _

_ “July 19th 2007 _

_ I swan, if Lucas nudges me one more time when Daniel walks past I will kill him! How does he even know about that? I know he hasn't been reading you, diary, cuz of the thread I've been taping over the pages…..” _

Well, shit. There was her answer right there. She'd been such a dumbass.

She flicked through pages of scrawled hearts and embarrassing poetry, finally coming on an entry that gave her pause.

_ October 10th 2007 _

_ I had that dream again - the one about the baby Momma lost when I was little, but grown up now. The girl scares me so much. I can never see her face and she wears all black. Why does she hate me so much? She says it's my fault she was never born, because there's only room for one daughter. She's says she gonna fix that one day though. Ugh. _

Zoe lowered the diary. The dreams. She'd had a spate of them when she'd hit puberty, but they had ended a long time ago.

She couldn't recall much in the way of detail, although she could remember how they had made her feel. In the diary she'd described it as fear, but it was more than that: It had been dread. The feeling like everything was coming to an end and there was nothing she could do about it.

Zoe shuddered. She hadn't thought about the dream in years.

Not wanting to dwell on it, she closed the diary. It had been a friend to her for a while, something she in which she could confide even things she was scared to tell Chelsea, but it seemed it hadn't been all that private after all. Part of her wanted to pitch it into the swamp, but she thought one day she might have a daughter, and the diary would be a useful resource for understanding what she might be going through. She put it back in the box.

 

Back home, the feeling of peace Zoe had managed to regain in the swamp was watered down somewhat, but she was determined not to get wrapped up in it again.

Instead, she dug out her yoga mat and tutorial videotape and went to find somewhere quiet she could practice.

Daddy was doing something noisy with Lucas on the first floor, nailing boards over the windows, so she went out through the main hall and up to the rec room by Grandma Baker's old room.

Grandma’s room creeped her out. She had died suddenly of a stroke whilst sitting down to a solitary supper, and since then the room had been left untouched, like a shrine. Zoe had gone in there several times to fetch things, and it felt like the tenacious old woman was still in there, lurking. Her dentures were still in her drawer where they'd always been, as she'd always refused to wear them, preferring to gum away on soft food. No one had ever cleared the plates away from her final meal either. Even the broken old shotgun she liked to hold was propped up by the door.

Grandma Baker had been an odd woman even before dementia had dug its claws in. She'd been forced to come and live with them after a broken hip had put an end to her gallivanting and she'd insisted on bringing her shotgun with her.

 

“ _ Never go nowhere without ma shotgun, son, you know that!” she told Jack on the day of her move when he tried to pry it off her. _

_ “But Momma, you can't carry it in the car,” Jack reasoned. A normally outspoken, no-nonsense man, Zoe’s father was extraordinarily deferential to his mother. _

_ “Pshhh.” Grandma Baker snorted, her lips flapping loose over her toothless mouth. “Nobody's gonna take a gun off an old woman! Now hush up, son. You ain't too old for me ta tan yer hide!” _

_ Exasperated, Jack gave in, on the condition that she rode in the back with Lucas and Zoe. _

_ The old woman crammed happily in the back of the car with her grandchildren, the shotgun laying across all their laps. _

_ “Ain't this cosy?” she remarked, squeezing Lucas’s knee with a bony hand. _

_ “Sure is, grandma,” agreed Lucas, stifling his laughter. _

_ Lucas loved Grandma Baker. She had a foul mouth and was known to be extra indulgent when it came to her grandbabies. He especially loved the way she spoke to their father. _

_ They started down the highway, Grandma giving directions even though Jack had driven this route countless times. She prodded him in the shoulder with her gun. _

_ “Go faster, slowpoke! I swan, sometimes yer about as fast as a one-legged man in an ass-kickin’ contest. Oughta let Lucas drive, then we'd see some speed.” _

_ She nudged Lucas, evidently remembering the time after he'd gotten his license and taken her for a spin. He'd screeched out of the driveway of her ranch house with a squeal of tires that had turned Jack pale, but Grandma had wound down the window and given a rebel yell into the peaceful retirement community, bringing old folks to their front doors to see what all the fuss had been about. _

_ Jack had been set to flay Lucas alive by the time he roared back, laying a trail of rubber behind him as he braked within inches of the house wall, but Grandma had been ecstatic. _

_ “Now that's what I call a ride! Leave ‘im be, Jack, I'm happier than a dead pig in sunshine!” _

 

_ Her parents had wanted her in the main house where they could keep an eye on her, but she'd insisted on being put up here. _

_ “Still need ma independence, son. I like to keep odd hours, don't want to keep you old fogies awake. Me ‘n’ Lucas ‘n’ Zoe are gonna have wild parties, ain't we kids?” _

_ And there she'd lived for several years. Zoe and Lucas would visit her often, smuggling her bourbon, always greeted by her call: _

_ “Come an’ gimme some sugar!” _

_ Her kisses had been whiskery, and somehow hollow without her teeth in, but neither of them had ever denied her. _

_ When her mind had started to go, Jack had swapped her shotgun for an old broken one,in case she took it into her head to start taking potshots at people, and would wheel her out in the yard to take in the sun with it cradled in her arms like a baby. _

_ Marguerite had cared for her tirelessly, bathing her with the help of Zoe, lifting her in and out of bed every day and brushing the old woman's hair for her. _

_ It had been Zoe who had found her dead when she'd gone to collect her supper dishes, sitting in her straight backed chair, her shotgun leaning against her leg. _

 

Zoe made sure the door to her grandma's room was closed before unrolling her mat. She didn't want the ghost of the old woman popping out and spurring her on.

“ _ Get that ass higher, honey! Keep bendin’ over like that you'll have a husband in no time!” _

She slotted her tape into the vcr, wishing not for the first time that Daddy would give in and upgrade to DVD, but it was too much to hope for.

Zoe lay on her mat and tried to concentrate on her breathing.

Bending her knees, she placed her arms at her sides, exhaling as she lifted her hips into the bridge pose, clasping her hands under her back. The instructor told her to hold for a minute, but Zoe lost count as she stared at the ceiling.

The argument with Aunt Sylvia she'd remembered kept playing over in her mind, one thing in particular nagging at her: Aunt Sylvia had said that Lucas had been born out of wedlock.

Her parent's wedding anniversary was October 26th, Lucas’s birthday October 19th. She'd always assumed Lucas had been born roughly a year after her parents had gotten married, so was it true? It didn't really matter, she supposed, but somehow she couldn't picture Daddy leaving Momma hanging after finding out she was pregnant. There had to be a story behind it.

Rolling over onto her belly, she raised her chest up off the ground in the cobra pose, tightening her pelvic floor.

Her mind wandered again as she remembered that one of the symptoms of the menopause was incontinence, and wondered if maybe she should get Momma to do some of these exercises with her. Marguerite would die of shame if she started pissing whenever she sneezed….

After a few reps, she curled her back over, tucking her head under in the cat pose. It would be nice to have a cat again, she thought. They'd had a cat and a dog when they were younger, Zoe’s pet being a marmalade tom cat called Chucky that had died after eating rat poison. She'd been devastated, and although Jack had offered to get her another, she'd refused at the time.

The dog, Diane, had been a mongrel, an unlikely cross between a Newfoundland and a German Shepherd that had ostensibly belonged to Lucas, although the whole family had loved her. Jack had made the rule when she was a puppy that the dog wasn't allowed on the furniture but Zoe and Lucas had walked in one day to find Jack sharing the couch with Diane as they dozed in front of a ballgame, both of them snoring to beat the band. After that, it had been a competition to see who could get Diane to sleep on their bed.

Shifting her weight, Zoe went on her hands and knees, walking her hands forward and slowly lifting her hips upwards until she was in the inverted V of the Downward Dog.

She giggled at the thought of Grandma Baker watching.

_ “Whoo-wee! Reminds me o’ my honeymoon……” _

The old woman had been filthy and outrageous in a way her son and daughter-in-law could barely tolerate, regaling Zoe with tales of her sexual exploits.

“ _ Me an’ yer grandad did it on the banks o’ the Mississipi once - paddle steamer went by jest when yer grandaddy was reachin’ the point o’ no return. Was the 4th o’ July an’ the boat was full o’ people cheerin’ an’ wavin’ flags. Jacob was convinced they was cheerin’ ‘im on!” _

Zoe laughed at the memory, and it quickly led to one of her own....

 

_ Zoe was 15 and had taken an afterschool job at the feed store in town. _

_ Her boss was Mr Anderson, a middle-aged man with round glasses and a moustache. He was a friend of her father's and had given her the job as a favour. The work was boring and could be dirty, but mostly she worked behind the counter serving customers while Beau, Mr Anderson’s son, did all the heavy work. _

_ Beau was a sweet man in his 30s with the mind of a child. Zoe liked him a lot. She was always kind to him, unlike most of the town kids her age. The ones who had already read To Kill a Mockingbird at school called him Boo. _

_ He was a gentle giant of a man with a halo of blond curls and bright green eyes. Zoe would always buy him a candy bar on payday. _

_ Their usual delivery man was a grizzled old guy with a big beard, but one day a young man turned up instead. _

_ Zoe had been out back grabbing a sneaky cigarette when the delivery truck had pulled into the loading bay. The man who climbed out wore tight jeans and a big smile. His hair shone auburn in the evening light, the sunset enhancing the glints of red. _

_ Struck dumb, Zoe had quickly crushed her butt under her heel as he approached. _

_ “Ah’m lookin’ fer Mr Anderson, ma’am. Somethin’ tells me you ain't him.” _

_ “No……I'm not…..” She struggled to think of something clever and interesting to say but came up blank. _

_ “Ah didn't think so. Yer way too pretty!” _

_ He dropped her a wink and Zoe felt her knees turn to jelly. _

_ “D’ya think you could maybe find ‘im? I gotta whole lotta feed ta unload an’ ah’m runnin’ late……” _

_ Zoe sprang into action. _

_ “I'll go get Beau - he helps with the deliveries.” _

_ She fled, kicking herself at her awkwardness, and hid behind the counter as he unloaded feedbags. He hefted them as though they weighed nothing, chatting respectfully with Beau, and she kept half an eye on the open storeroom door so she could catch a glimpse of his fine ass packing out those skinny jeans. _

_ He was back the following week, and this time she was ready for him. _

_ “Hi! Didn't introduce myself last time. I'm Zoe.” _

_ The man grinned. _

_ “I'm Billy. Pleased ta meet ya!” _

_ “How come Arlo ain't doin’ deliveries?” _

_ “Aw, he's got a gammy leg. He's holed up at home restin’ right now, an’ Ah took over till he's well enough ta work again.” _

_ “Oh, poor Arlo!” _

_ “Yeah, he's pretty miserable. Can't say Ah ain't happy at the turn of events, tho, it means Ah get ta meet the likes o’ you…..” _

_ He looked her up and down, smiling. Zoe blushed. _

_ “Well, if I can do anythin’ for ya, you only gotta ask…..” _

_ Billy’s smile broadened into a grin. _

_ “Oh, now, don't say things like that! Yer gonna put ideas inta ma head!” _

_ She giggled, and was about to say more, but then Beau came shambling out. _

_ She watched the men unload until the bell ringing at the shop front told her she had a customer and reluctantly went back inside. As she served, she thought about the way his t-shirt clung to his chest and the considerable bulge packing the crotch of his jeans. _

_ This time as he left, he called out to her. _

_ “Bye, Zoe! See ya next week!” _

_ In the three weeks that followed, she got to know him better - the music he liked, what he did in his spare time, the fact that he played the guitar. The guitar! Swoon…. _

_ He was 20 years old and way out of her league, but Zoe fantasised about him every waking moment and dreamed about him at night. _

_ On the sixth week, he greeted her with a whistle. She was wearing a new dress, a yellow cotton one with flowers and spaghetti straps, and it was really far too short to be serving in a feedstore, but his reaction made her glad she'd decided to wear it. _

_ “Wow, Zoe! You sure look nice today! Seems a cryin’ shame ta keep those legs covered all the time.” _

_ Laughing, Zoe grabbed the hem of her skirt and bobbed a little curtsey. Billy swept a low bow in return. _

_ “Is Beau around, pretty lady?” _

_ “Why, no he ain't! I'm all by myself today…..Mr Anderson is sick, an’ Beau’s lookin’ after him.” _

_ Billy raised his eyebrows. _

_ “They left a beautiful girl like you alone in this town full o’ reprobates?” He shook his head. “Don't they know some might steal ya away?” _

_ Zoe giggled, her cheeks flushing furiously. _

_ “Well, looks like ah’m unloadin’ by maself today. Best get ta work, Ah guess….” _

_ Giving her one last, lingering look he walked to his truck. _

_ Zoe sat on the step and watched him, bare legs stretched out in front of her. His skin soon took on a healthy sheen as he worked, stacking bags of feed in the store room. Halfway through he stopped to take off his shirt, and Zoe had to stifle a moan at the sight of his bronzed body flexing in the evening sunlight. _

_ By the time he'd finished she was a wreck, her knees weak and her panties damp. He walked over to where she sat, his t-shirt tucked into the waistband of his jeans. _

_ “Well, that's it for the day……” he commented, seeming reluctant to leave. _

_ “Ain't you got more deliveries?” _

_ “Naw. Saved the best till last. Mind if Ah sit a spell?” _

_ “Be my guest!” _

_ Zoe made room for him on the step, heart thumping. He sat next to her and offered her a cigarette. As they smoked together, Zoe cast in her mind for a topic of conversation, but Billy was the first to speak. _

_ “Ah don't mind tellin’ ya, Zoe, Ah’ve grown mighty fond o’ ya these past weeks. Ah hope you don't think Ah’m too forward fer sayin’ so…..” he said quietly. _

_ “Oh! No! In fact….I'm fond o’ you, too….” _

_ Billy looked at her for a long time and crushed out his cigarette. _

_ “Ah don't suppose there's any chance…..” he began, then stopped, shaking his head. “Naw. Ah can't ask ya that.” _

_ Zoes mind raced. He didn't know how old she was, so if he asked her out on a date she couldn't accept and that would be the end of it. But she couldn't possibly let the opportunity go to waste, after all her dreams and fantasies. Taking her courage in both hands, she stood. _

_ “I can lock up early, if you like, an’ we can go in the storeroom. Nobody will disturb us….” _

_ Billy looked at her in surprise. _

_ “Ya sure?” he asked incredulously. _

_ “Yeah, why not. I mean, you want to, don't you?” _

_ “Hell, yeah!” _

_ Billy stood up eagerly, the bulge in the front of his jeans considerably larger than before. It gave Zoe a sudden rush of power to see the effect she had on this handsome man. Taking his hand, she led him into the shop. _

 

_ With the doors locked and the shutters down, they were hidden from sight. Billy kissed her in the dim light that filtered into the store, his mouth gentle and undemanding. Zoe was scared, but determined to go through with it, clutching his bare shoulders as his arms encircled her. He'd asked her several times if she was certain, and although she wasn't she'd told him yes. If she was going to lose her virginity, she'd rather it was with someone beautiful and respectful like him. _

_ The growing lump under his fly pressed into her belly as they kissed. Zoe was worried he’d be able to tell how inexperienced she was, but he seemed to want to take the lead anyway, so hopefully her innocence would go unnoticed. _

_ He had the hem of her dress in his hands and peeled it upwards as their tongues sparred lazily, Zoe feeling the dusty air touch her bare skin as he exposed her. She wasn't wearing a bra, so by the time the dress was over her head she was more naked than she'd ever been in front of a man. _

_ He moaned softly in the quiet gloom. _

_ “Aw, yer so beautiful…..” he kissed her neck, his hands roaming from her waist to her small breasts, making her suck in her breath at the feel of his fingers on her nipples. _

_ She'd only ever touched them herself, and the sensation it produced was a mere ghost compared to what she felt now. _

_ “Oh!” She was surprised at the intensity, and a shudder ran through her body. _

_ “You ain't done this before, have ya?” Billy asked her gently, still caressing her as he spoke. _

_ She shook her head, embarrassed that it was so obvious, her words stuck in her throat as he squeezed the small mounds gently. _

_ “Well, don't you worry none…..Ah don't aim ta hurt ya…..” _

_ Relieved, she leaned back against the counter, arching her back.  He lowered his face, his mouth finding her and wetting her skin. His tongue brushed her nipple, tickling it delicately before moving to the other. _

_ “Mmmm…..yer so sweet, Zoe…..” _

_ His hands grabbed her ass, fingers clenching on her buttocks through the thin cotton of her panties. His mouth tightened on her nipple, sucking, drawing it against his teeth. Zoe’s knees trembled with the effort of keeping herself upright and she hung on to his neck, her eyes closed, the red tracery of veins visible through her eyelids. _

_ One hand moved from her back to her front, thick fingers probing between her thighs and rubbing at the crotch of her panties, grunting in approval at the moisture soaking through. Without waiting any longer, Billy pulled them down past her knees, letting them fall around her ankles. She kicked them off as he lifted her, sitting her on the edge of the counter. _

_ One arm round her waist, his free hand undid his zip. Zoe peered uncertainly at the veiny thing he produced. She knew, in theory, what a dick looked like but this thing was larger and uglier than she'd expected. _

_ Billy grinned at her, his teeth white in the darkness. _

_ “Don't be scared, honey. Imma be real gentle.” _

_ He stepped in closer, his bare chest crushing up against her. She felt his cock, hot and somehow alive, pressing between her legs. Obligingly, she parted her thighs further, grimacing as the sticky head touched her pussy. _

_ Slowly, Billy started to push it in. The pleasure she'd felt whilst he fondled and sucked her had all but gone, replaced with nervous curiosity. Would he fit? _

_ It went in easily enough at first, and she started to feel like the whole virginity thing was all a big fuss, but soon enough he encountered an obstruction that required more force. She winced as he shoved harder, a little more of his length disappearing inside her, and gave a yelp when he thrust it all the way in. _

_ It hurt, but not as much as she had expected. Once in, he pulled her ass forward on the counter, tilting her pelvis. Feeling like she was about to fall, she wrapped her legs round his waist. _

_ “Here we go honey,” he grunted, and began to jerk his hips against her. _

_ Zoe watched his face, his eyebrows drawn together as if he were frowning, his mouth set in a hard, determined line. What he was doing was, if she was honest, not giving her any physical pleasure, but rather an emotional kick, knowing that this good-looking guy liked her enough to put his prick in her. _

_ He picked up speed, her body jolting in time with the rhythm of his movement. It felt strange, that gap she'd had all her life suddenly filled by a part of someone else's body, and she felt like a dispassionate observer, watching from the outside as he pounded away at her. _

_ Billy was making a noise deep down in his throat, his arm a tense bar of muscle around her waist. Zoe wondered if she should be making some sort of sound, but before she could decide he kissed her fiercely, his lips clamping over hers, huffing and puffing into her mouth. _

_ Heat flooded her as she felt his cock pulse, his body shuddering convulsively, hips pressing even harder between her legs, before he finally relaxed. _

_ He pulled away, grinning. _

_ “Wow! That was real good, weren't it?” he asked her, pulling out with a slurpy, farting sound. _

_ Zoe smiled brightly. _

_ “It sure was!” she agreed. _

_ They dressed, Zoe feeling a little awkward but inordinately proud. She couldn't wait to tell Chelsea! _

_ Warm spunk oozed out of her as she unlocked the back door to let him out, the sticky feeling in her panties making her itch. _

_ “I'll see you next week, Zoe,” said Billy, waving as he drove away. _

_ Zoe finished locking up with minutes to spare as Lucas pulled up out front to give her a ride home. _

_ As she climbed into Daddy’s car, he looked at her suspiciously. _

_ “What you lookin’ so pleased about?” he demanded. _

 

_ The following week Zoe felt her heart sink when the delivery truck pulled up and old Arlo climbed out. _

_ “Hey, Zoe,” he greeted her, limping round to the back of the truck. _

_ “Arlo? Uh, you feelin’ better now?” _

_ “Well, I ain't a hunnert percent, but Ah had ta get back ta work. That dumbass Billy has gone back off ta college in Alabama, an’ not a moment too soon, ya ask me! Sonofabitch been abusin’ his position, fuckin’ shopgirls all up ‘n’ down ‘is route. I tell ya, there's some angry husbands ‘n’ fathers on the warpath fer him…..” The old man shook his head, beard swinging, before noticing the look on her face. _

_ “Hey now. He, uh, didn't do anythin’.....inappropriate with you, did he?” _

_ Zoe forced a smile as she fought back tears. _

_ “No, Arlo. I wouldn't do anythin’ like that!” _

_ Arlo nodded with satisfaction. _

_ “Well, good. Sensible girl like you got no cause to be dallyin’ with the likes o’ that lowdown dawg. Could kick his ass maself, nephew or no! Now fetch me Beau, willya honey?” _

 

Zoe remembered her heartbreak, the feeling of betrayal and anger, but it all seemed so unimportant now. She'd tried to track him down, and had spent long evenings crying alone in her room, until Lucas, noticing her low mood, tried to find out what was wrong in a conversation so awkward that she resolved to dwell on it no longer, much to their mutual relief.

She often wished she could meet Billy again just so she could kick his ass.

Looking back, she realised how lucky she'd been not to get pregnant or pick up any STIs, and that first experience changed how she viewed relationships. From that day on, boys had been for fucking, not mooning over, and although she'd gained a reputation as a cold hearted bitch it suited her just fine. In fact, in a perverse way, she'd gotten more action because of it: From boys who wanted sex without commitment; from boys who saw her as a challenge and ultimately came out worse off; and from boys who wanted to try and warm that icy muscle of hers, only to find that a dragon guarded it.

Zoe sighed. She'd been shut away for too long and hadn't had sex in months.

She let the video run on by itself, the instructor doing her best to coerce her into the awkward Seated Twist, but Zoe had other things on her mind.

Lying on her back, she slid her hand under the waistband of her yoga pants, touching herself through the fabric of her underwear. She put her free hand under her head as a pillow, closing her eyes and trying to locate a decent fantasy to masturbate to. There was the Mason Cooper one of course, so unsatisfactory in her dream a few nights back, but she could improve on that, surely.

She thought about Mason with his lovely ass and huge hands, teasing herself at the thought of those thick fingers being where hers were now. He had a nice mouth, too, and she remembered shopping with Momma a few weeks back when Mason had licked his licked his upper lip and she'd noticed how long and wide his tongue had been.

She grinned, ready to go, moving her hand and slipping it inside her panties. Yeah, Mason had a big, fat tongue. Would explain his slight speech impediment, but who gave a shit about what he said? She wasn't interested in hearing him talk. She stroked her clit, barely touching it, imagining Mason's head between her thighs, his tongue working its wet way between her fingers.

Zoe picked up the pace, pressing down more firmly, flexing her legs and bracing them slightly further apart.

That's it, Mason, lick that pussy you lucky boy, get right in there…..

She turned her head to the side, lifting her hips off the floor.

Good boy, keep it up an’ maybe I'll return the favour…..

She brought a second finger into play, increasing the pressure, biting her lower lip. It was building up too fast, but she didn't care - she could have another one right after, that was the beauty of being a woman, she could have them allllll day……

The door to the rec room burst open and Lucas barged in.

“Hey, Zoe, Momma said you were - “

He stopped mid-sentence, his voice cutting off as if he were being choked.

Zoe ripped her hands out of her pants, right on the edge of cumming, her panic causing her to overreact.

“ _ Lucas! _ ” she screeched. “ _ Don't you fucking knock?” _

“What type o’ fuckin’ yoga was  _ that _ ?” he responded with equal horror, his mouth wide as he stood frozen in the doorway.

Zoe looked for something to throw at him but nothing was close to hand.

“Get  _ out _ , you - you  _ pervert!” _

Lucas was already backing away, but her words hit him like a punch, and the moment they'd left her mouth she wished she could take them back.

Mortified, she struggled to apologise but her throat had closed up from the sheer cringe of it all.

“I ain't no pervert!” he snarled. “Least I ain't never jerked off to a fuckin’ yoga video……”

He left the room, slamming the door behind him with such force Zoe thought she heard wood splinter.

“Lucas…..” she called after him.

“ _ Fuck you!”  _ he yelled back, and stamped off down the hall.


	5. 4 Days Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack throws Lucas’s crap in that red box on the veranda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've attempted to explain this entry on the "Fuck You List" the best I can. And some other stuff.
> 
> Tensions are rising.

Zoe tried to find Lucas to apologise, but he'd shut himself in the attic, taking the remote control for the ladder with him.

She stood under the hatch, listening for sounds of movement, but could only hear the subdued hum of his laptop.

Part of her was truly sorry: It hadn't been his fault he'd burst in on her moment of solitary pleasure, and calling him a pervert had been both uncalled for and unfair. But another part - the selfish, frustrated part - was angry that he'd interrupted her when she'd been  _ right on the brink. _

She thought about calling up to him to see if she could make amends, but she was honestly still too mortified to face him right now.

Feeling guilty, she decided to leave him be, and sloped off to her room to sheepishly finish what she'd started.

 

To say that dinner was awkward that evening would be an understatement.

Marguerite had been mildly disappointed there were no fish for her to cook, and Zoe tried to steer the conversation in that direction, painfully aware of the black cloud that was her brother slumped in the chair next to her.

He hadn't looked in her direction since he'd walked into the room, refusing to engage in their game during grace, instead staring moodily into space while their father droned on to God.

Zoe had forgotten what a sulky little bitch he could be.

Jack, in the meantime, had embarked on one of his reminiscences about going noodling with his beer buddies.

“......an’ ole Hoss burst up out o’ the water with a catfish looked like it must o’ weighed 70 pounds stuck over his fist! Was thrashin’ around like you wouldn't believe…….”

Zoe nodded like she was listening, picking at her food listlessly. The atmosphere between her and Lucas had ruined whatever appetite she might have had, and the hostility was still coming off him in waves.

“......’course, Hoss had been doin’ this longer than I had, so he weren't surprised when…..”

Zoe nudged Lucas’s foot under the table, but instead of the filthy look she'd been expecting he merely pulled his foot out of reach and continued to ignore her. She'd have preferred his rage to this cold disregard. It meant she'd wounded his feelings more than she'd realised.

Sighing, she slumped in her chair as her father's tale came to an end.

“….an’ I reckon they had a fine supper in his house that night.” Jack shook his head, smiling at the fond memories. “Always was a pity you never came with us, Lucas. We had some good times.”

“Naw, ain't my kind o’ thing. Can't stand the smell o’ fish on ma hands. Unlike Zoe here…..”

He smirked to himself. Zoe’s mouth hung open. Was he throwing shade? She glared at him but he didn't look over to gauge her reaction.

“Yeah, more I think about it, you shoulda taken Zoe fishin’ with ya, dad. She's good with her hands, after all……”

Sliding further down in her seat, Zoe attempted a kick in his direction, but he'd drawn his legs safely under his chair.

“You remember when she was learnin’ ta play the piano?” continued Lucas, undeterred. “She had a real good fingerin’ technique even back then.”

“Lucas!” snapped Zoe.

Her parent's looked at her, confused..

“What's wrong, Punkin?” asked Jack. “Lucas is just complimentin’ you.”

“Yeah, Zoe. What's wrong, can't take a little bit o’ praise?” He was looking at her now, his grin pure evil. “You abuse yerself far too much.”

“Stop it, Lucas….” she warned, her ears burning.

“Whaaaat?” He lifted his hands as if in despair. “Can't a brother say somethin’ nice about his sister occasionally? Don't get yer panties in a bunch, Zoe…..”

Zoe clenched her hands into fists at the futility of arguing with him. His carefully disguised references were going straight over their parent's heads and any insult she hurled back at him was only going to make her look like a brat.

Sighing happily, Lucas turned his attention back to his food.

“This is great, Momma. In fact, I'd say it's finger lickin’ good,” said Lucas, winking at her.

“Momma, may I be excused?” asked Zoe through gritted teeth.

“Why, of course cher. Are you okay?” said Marguerite, her expression both puzzled and concerned.

“I'm fine, Momma. Just not very hungry.”

“I’d o’ thought all that  _ yoga _ would've given ya quite an appetite,” remarked Lucas, sniggering.

Zoe fled from the room, hearing her father's voice behind her.

“What in the world is wrong with that child today?” he wondered.

“Aw, I ‘spect she's jest frustrated about somethin’, dad…….”

 

Lucas’s revenge had been perfect, she had to admit. She hoped the humiliation she'd suffered at the table meant they were quits, although she still intended to apologise to him if she could resist the temptation to beat him to a pulp.

She hid in her room till her family had finished supper before creeping out to find Lucas.

He was about to climb the ladder into the attic when she caught him, holding the lamp he'd attempted to hide the remote in when they were younger.

When he saw her approaching, he instinctively held it up in front of him to block any attack.

“Relax,” said Zoe, holding her hands up. “I come in peace. Unlike earlier.”

When he laughed she knew they were ok, and he lowered his defence-lamp.

“Got ya good, didn't I?” said Lucas.

Zoe sighed. He always liked to be reassured of his victories.

“Yeah. I admit it. That was pretty well done. I'm still gonna apologise though. I was a bitch earlier, an’ I'm sorry.”

Lucas considered for a moment, then nodded.

“Ok. Apology accepted.” He eyed her narrowly. “I ain't shakin’ yer hand though…”

“Lucas!”

Cackling at his own wit, Lucas started up the ladder.

 

_ 10/6 _

_ The old man got drunk and started throwing all my crap in that red box out on the veranda. _ _   
_ _ FUCK YOU! _

 

The next day, the rain began, the forerunner of the approaching storm.

Zoe woke to the sound of gentle pattering on her window pane, the morning light subdued and grey.

She was glad it had finally begun, that the waiting was over, but the feeling of unease hadn't left her.

She'd had a dream the night before, one she hadn't had for years, about the mysterious little girl. It had probably been inspired by the diary entry she'd read, and the ambience of it remained with her even now when she was awake.

 

Lucas was already up and halfway through breakfast, much to her surprise. Unless their mother dragged him out of bed for some purpose, he'd happily lie in bed most of the day, messing about on his phone.

“You're up early,” she observed.

“Yeah, couldn't fuckin’ sleep. Kept havin’ weird dreams…….”

The confession sent a slight shiver down her spine.

“Was it about a little girl in black?” she asked, clutching the edge of the table.

He looked at her sideways.

“Naw…” he said slowly. “Was about toads. Why the fuck would I dream about a little girl in black?”

Feeling silly, Zoe shrugged.

“Dunno. It's what I dreamed about.”

“Yeah, well, we ain't in a fuckin’ horror movie, Zoe. We ain't gonna have the same dream.” He shook his head in disgust. “Hey, you remember that time you had a dream that a minotaur was chasin’ you through a labyrinth, but when it caught you all it did was steal your socks? That was fuckin’ funny!”

“It wasn't, it was scary,” she said defensively. “Anyways, least I never woke the entire house up screamin’ once cuz I had a dream about a robot zombie clown!”

Lucas glowered at her.

“I was a little kid!”

They both subsided, storing up the argument until one of them could dredge up more embarrassing memories for a counter attack.

Their mother bustled in, setting a mug of coffee in front of Zoe. Zoe’s heart sank a little when she realised it was the cheap stuff she hated, but she drank it anyway, grimacing and feeling guilty. It wasn't her mother's fault money was tight again.

“What are my babies up to today?” asked Marguerite, attempting to ruffle Lucas’s hair.

Lucas evaded her expertly, dodging to one side; he was like a cat in the way he could avoid unwanted affection.

“I'm gonna go out to the barn,” he said. “Got somethin’ I'm workin’ on there.”

He stretched in an exaggerated fashion, using the opportunity to poke Zoe in the side of the head.

“That's nice, cher,” said Marguerite automatically. She never understood half the projects he worked on.

“Would be nicer if I had a decent buzzsaw,” he complained. “That old one I got’s all shot to shit…..”

“Well, maybe we can sort something out,” said Marguerite cryptically. “I'm making a trip to town today. Anybody need to put anything put on the list?”

She sat at the table, pen poised over a scrap of paper.

“I need some shaving cream,” said Zoe.

“Yeah, yer beard's gettin’ a little long,” sniggered Lucas.

“Least I got more hair on my legs than you got on your head,” countered Zoe, giving herself a mental high-five as he glared at her.

“What about you, Lucas?” interjected their mother, putting a halt to any further bickering.

“Could use a condenser. An’ a flash disk.”

“Okay.”

Marguerite’s smile was forced and unnatural as she wrote the items down, scribbling large question marks beside each. She had no idea what he was talking about.

After Lucas had left, Zoe spoke to her mother.

“Momma? Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, cher.”

“You don't have to answer if you don't wanna, but - remember when you an’ Aunt Sylvia had that argument and you sent her out of the house?”

Marguerite stiffened, her lips tightening.

“Of course I remember. What about it?”

“Yesterday I remembered she said somethin’ about Lucas bein’ born out o’ wedlock. Is that true?”

Her mother hesitated, then nodded, sighing.

“Yes, he was. Your Aunt was very religious, as you know, so she didn't approve. But your father and I were engaged long before I got pregnant with Lucas.”

“So why the delay? I ain't judgin’, Momma. Just curious.”

“Well, as you know, your father was in the Marines. Spent a lot o’ time away from home. He met me while he was on leave, once, an’ we fell in love. He used to visit me whenever he could. My parents liked ‘im, but they were very strict, so I used to sneak out at night to meet ‘im.”

She smiled fondly at the memory.

“We got engaged, an’ then he got news that he had to go away on a special mission, an’ we knew we weren't gonna see each other for a long time, so the night before he left, I sneaked out, an’ we, uh….” She giggled and blushed. “Don't seem right tellin’ you!”

Zoe thought of the time she'd let a boy in and fucked him on the workbench in the garage whilst her parents watched tv upstairs. The door had been open and she'd heard every word of the program they were watching whilst she'd sucked his dick. She smiled.

“It's ok, Momma. I ain't easily shocked.”

Flustered, Marguerite continued.

“Anyway, Jack went off, an’ about a month later I found out I was expectin’ Lucas, but your father’s mission was a secret so he wasn't allowed to tell anyone where he was. I couldn't contact him!”

She shrugged helplessly.

“I was so upset. I wanted to tell him, but what could I do? I just had to wait. It was a hard time, cher. My parents weren't happy, but they supported me, and when your father came back I was about to drop! He set about arrangin’ the wedding right away, borrowin’ money an’ a suit, but he wasn't in time…..I had Lucas, an’ had to take some time recuperatin’ before I could walk down the aisle. But, you know, it was all worth it.”

She laughed at the long ago memory.

“Lucas looked so cute on the day, dressed in a tiny white sailor suit your Grandma Baker got him. Proud as punch she was of her little grandbaby, wouldn't let anyone else hold him. Took him off during the ceremony and sang to him whenever he cried……”

Marguerite picked up her shopping list.

“So that's what happened.”

“Did Daddy ever tell you where he was on this mission o’ his?” asked Zoe.

“Well, he shouldn't o’ done, but he did. He was in the Arklay Mountains.”

“Where's that?”

“You know, I ain't sure, cher. But there's a picture of it on the wall in the main hall. I don't know what he did there, but it was all very mysterious, an’ it wasn't the first time he was stationed there. Guess we'll never know!”

She got up and went into the kitchen, pinning her list to the fridge door with a magnet.

Zoe mulled over what she'd been told. It all made sense, but now she wondered what it was that her father had been doing in the Arklay Mountains.

 

Zoe wandered into the main hall. It was a very light area normally due to the large banks of windows high up overhead, but today it was gloomy. She put on a lamp and examined the picture in the reflected runnels of rain on the window panes.

It depicted a broad sweep of forested mountains, waves of green undulating over the landscape. According to the caption, it had been taken in 1991, and judging from the aerial view it was likely snapped from a helicopter. Had her father taken it himself?

Curious, Zoe took out her phone and Googled the mountain range.

“The Arklay Mountains are situated northwest of Raccoon City and are a popular hiking and camping destination frequented regularly by Raccoon's nature-loving populace as well as the tourists to the area. Most of the Arklay region is unused and is almost completely covered with heavy vegetation.    
The Arklay Mountains are classified as temperate hardwood forest, with the region being dominated by Pine trees, Maple trees, Oak trees and other native plant life such as -”

Blah, blah blah. She didn't really care about plants. But the name Raccoon City sounded familiar.

She was about to Google that too when the door to the verandah opened and her father walked in, shaking rain from his boots.

“Zoe, honey, tell your mother that her shoppin’ trip’s gonna have to wait, would you? It's rainin’ like a cow pissin’ on a flat rock, an’ the track to the main road’s knee high with mud! An’ it's only gonna get worse.”

Zoe slipped her phone into her pocket, Raccoon City forgotten.

“Ok, Daddy, I'll tell her.”

 

Marguerite loaded Zoe up with a lunch to take to Lucas. When he was working, he often forgot to eat.

Her father had come in soaking wet and was currently drying off in front of the tv, a plate balanced on his lap.

“Watch your step goin’ across the yard, Punkin. It's slippery as all get out!”

“Ok Daddy.”

She went out the back way to the small yard. The veranda was slick with rainwater, and Zoe was drenched before she'd even passed the old rusted trailer.

She had fond memories of that trailer - she and her friends had often used it as a play house and “secret” hideout when she was younger, but she hadn't been inside in years, and wondered what kind of condition it was in.

Splashing through mud puddles with a grimace she scampered through the scrubby grass and into the covered stairwell by the side of the house. Rain crept in through cracks in the boards but it was a lot better than outside. She called out to Lucas, but got no reply. Great. She was going to have to go find him.

Zoe hoped with all her heart that she wasn't going to stumble upon him doing something inappropriate, in a reversal of yesterday's embarrassment.

Plodding through the junk-filled rooms, she tried not to be creeped out. It was typical of her brother to like this place, with its mazes of corridors and armless mannequins crowding around.

The mannequins were all that was left of the store Grandpa Baker had owned before she was born. It had been the closest thing to a department store Dulvey had ever known, but had gone out of business when Grandpa had died. When she was little, the silent, faceless figures had terrified her, but Lucas had always felt comfortable surrounded by them. Maybe it was because he knew at least the mannequins wouldn't tease him….

In her darker moments, she wondered what else he did with them…..Ugh!

As she progressed through the deserted halls she heard the sound of machinery whirring, and realised he must be in the old barn where he'd set up a work station. It was far enough from the main house that he wouldn't disturb anyone.

Not for the first time, Zoe wondered why her parents didn't sell off the huge old house with its parcel of land and many surrounding outbuildings. They upkeep of the entire property was likely financially crippling, and much of it was in disrepair. They could sell at a profit and buy somewhere smaller in town with plenty of money left over.

Not that she wouldn't miss this place, with its proximity to her friend the swamp, and its endless rooms in which she could lose herself, but still…

She knew her father had always intended to fix the place up and run a bed and breakfast, but somehow the plan had never materialised. They'd rented out the guest house for a while, she remembered. It had been fun, growing up with a parade of other kids for her to play with. Lucas hadn't liked outsiders coming into their space, though, except when one couple had brought their teenage daughter with them…..

 

_ The Saunders family were staying for two weeks - the longest anyone had ever stayed with them. The parents were a nice pair, the mother taking to Marguerite immediately. The two women swiftly became friends, gossiping in the kitchen about children and cooking. Jack and Mr Saunders had begun a cautious conversation about football, which had led onto fishing, and soon the two men were sharing Daddy’s home brewed beers on the guest house porch and shooting the shit way into the night. _

_ Rosalie Saunders was 13, a year older than Zoe, a year younger than Lucas. She was a pretty girl, a little on the plump side, with long, golden curly hair that fascinated Zoe when she saw it reflecting the sunlight. _

_ Zoe spotted the girl sitting on the outdoor swing on the day of her arrival and immediately decided to be best friends with her, but just as she was about to go and introduce herself she saw Lucas. _

_ He was standing in the bushes at the edge of the lawn, not hiding but evidently shy of walking right in, and his face was a picture of awe and wonder as he stared at Rosalie. _

_ Zoe hesitated. Rosalie looked like she'd make a fine friend - she had a kind face and a ready smile - but judging by the look on Lucas’s face he was already half in love. He didn't have many friends - just a couple of town boys he hung around with on occasion - and he really didn't like girls, so it was odd to see him loitering awkwardly, trying to pluck up the courage to go introduce himself. _

_ At 14, Lucas was a gangly teen, skinny and far too tall. His sudden growth spurt had left him with long limbs he had trouble controlling and he was often clumsy, tripping over his own feet and knocking things over. He hadn't grown into his nose yet, either, although their mother swore it was bound to happen. Some of the kids at school called him Beaky. _

_ Without really analysing her reasons, Zoe decided to hang back and let Lucas make first contact. Somewhere deep in her 12 year old mind she understood that her brother had more need of this girl than she did, and she wanted him to make a friend. She watched as he scuffed his feet in the soft earth of the undergrowth. _

_ Rosalie was reading, but some movement in the corner of her eye must have distracted her, as she looked up from her book and saw Lucas, lurking like a creeper. She looked puzzled. _

_ “Hello?” she called. _

_ Lucas looked like he wanted to turn and run, but apparently some kind of paralysis had overtaken him and all he did was stand there and stare. _

_ Rosalie put down her book and stood, walking to the edge of the lawn. _

_ “You must be Lucas,” she said, smiling. _

_ Like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, Lucas cringed but didn't move. _

_ “I'm Rosalie,” continued the girl. “Rosalie Saunders. I'm stayin’ here awhile.” _

_ “Hi,” attempted Lucas. He was mangling a branch of the bush in front of him, twisting it and pulling off leaves nervously. There was a large pile of foliage littered at his feet already. _

_ They stood in silence for a few minutes, Rosalie studying the interloper. She was evidently a well brought up girl, schooled in the art of putting strangers at ease in a long tradition of Southern hospitality, and together with what must have been an innate good nature, she did her best to draw Lucas out. _

_ “Your momma told my momma that you're real smart. Told her you'd won lots o’ trophies for inventin’. That sounds real interestin’, Lucas. You wanna tell me about that?” _

_ Lucas’s face relaxed, his eyes filling with hope. _

_ “Yeah…..I got plenty….won ma first one when I was 7 years old…..” _

_ “7 years old? Wow! You must be real clever, Lucas…..” _

_ Slowly, like the growth of the kudzu vine over the greenhouse, a smile began to spread over Lucas’s face, making him look almost handsome in the afternoon light. _

_ “You reckon?” he asked, stepping out from the bushes and towering over her. _

_ Rosalie smiled back at him, her cheeks dimpling adorably. _

_ Zoe slowly retreated back towards the main house as her brother began to talk. _

 

_ By the end of the first week, Lucas and Rosalie were inseparable. Zoe watched the unfolding romance with a mixture of disbelief and fascination. She had never seen her brother so respectful and selfless, and the evenings at the supper table were alive with his talk of “Rosalie did this” or “Rosalie said that”. _

_ Their mother was overjoyed that her son was such a gentleman to the young lady, and Jack was full,of pride that his son had bagged himself such a pleasant, pretty girl. _

_ Zoe was a little put out that Rosalie was Lucas’s friend and not hers, but she figured she'd get over it. There were other girls to be friends with. _

_ In the second week, the two families had a barbecue together. _

_ Marguerite and Mrs Saunders chatted as they baked rolls and made potato salad, Jack and Mr Saunders stood around the grill, drinking beers as Jack flipped burgers. Rosalie and Lucas went off for a walk together, leaving Zoe sat by herself. _

_ The smell of grilling meat was hanging thick in the air and the adults were talking quietly when the calm was pierced by a shrill scream, coming from the direction in which Rosalie and Lucas had walked. Jack and the other man looked at each other, Jack flinging down his tongs and setting off at a run, Mr Saunders following close behind. Marguerite snatched at Zoe’s arm, but Zoe wasn't the type to sit back and let the men have all the adventures: She galloped off before her mother could stop her. _

_ Jack crashed through the undergrowth, the ground shaking beneath his thunderous steps, clearing a path in his wake. _

_ They found Rosalie crouched at the base of a tree, her hands over her face, her shoulders heaving with sobs. Lucas stood over her. _

_ Jack took in the little tableau at a glance, and launched himself forward, his hand raised. _

_ “Boy!” he roared. “What did you do to that child?” _

_ Lucas turned, his face pale and shocked, his eyes widening at his father's aggressive stance. He cringed back. _

_ “Dad, no! I didn't do nothin’!” _

_ Jack grabbed his son by his upper arm, his face twisted with rage. _

_ “If you hurt her…..” he began, but Mr Saunders leapt forward. _

_ “Hold yer horses, Jack!” he yelled, taking Jack’s raised wrist and pulling it back. _

_ Rosalie got to her feet, her lips trembling, her cheeks stained with tears. _

_ “There was a snake, Mr Baker! Right near me! An’ Lucas snatched it up an’ threw it in the swamp!” _

_ Jack lowered his hand. _

_ “A snake?” he said in confusion. _

_ Only then did he seem to notice the pain etched into his son's features. _

_ “What kind o’ snake, son? Did it bite ya? Tell me now!” _

_ “Was a cottonmouth,” said Lucas, his lips white. “A young one…..” _

_ He lifted his arm, displaying twin puncture marks high up near his wrist. _

_ Jack turned to Zoe. _

_ “Punkin, run back an’ tell your mother to call the hospital! She's to say that your brother has been bit by a water moccasin, an’ that we're on our way! Quickly now!” _

_ Zoe sprinted off, her feet flying over the ground in her panic. Behind her, Jack was lifting Lucas, carrying him back to the house while Mr Saunders comforted his distraught daughter. He was looking at Jack in a different way than he did before, as though he wasn't quite as comfortable with him now. _

_ There followed a flurry of activity, Marguerite and Jack loading Lucas into the car. Zoe crowded in the back with her mother and brother. She had never been so scared - not even when Lucas had faced down the gator. _

_ “Try an’ stay calm, cher,” Marguerite was saying, her voice cracking as she held her son's head on her lap, smoothing down his hair. _

_ “I don't feel so good, Momma…” said Lucas weakly. Zoe took one of his limp hands, trying not to cry. His fingers were cold and had no strength in them. _

_ “You'll be fine, Lucas, you'll be fine my sweet baby boy…..” Marguerite assured him, fighting back her own tears. _

_ Jack drove fast, his face grim, sailing round corners at an angle, putting his foot hard on the gas on the straight. _

_ “Daddy thought I hurt Rosalie….” Lucas whispered. “I wouldn't never hurt her!” _

_ “I know you wouldn't, baby,” said Marguerite, shooting an angry look at the back of her husband's head. _

 

_ Lucas remained in hospital for nearly a week, recovering. _

_ At home, for the first and last time that Zoe could remember, Marguerite was distinctly frosty towards Jack, and for many nights Zoe lay in bed hearing them talk in hushed yet urgent tones. _

_ When Lucas returned home, he was still weak, and hobbled into the house on his mother's arm, refusing any help from his father, not even looking in his direction. _

_ The Saunders’s had left early, avoiding the drama, and Lucas was inconsolable. _

_ Zoe went to visit him in his room. _

_ He was propped up in bed by a stack of pillows, an untouched bowl of soup going cold on a tray in front of him. He was pale and listless, his books on engineering lying discarded on his nightstand. _

_ “Hey Lucas,” said Zoe from the doorway. _

_ “Go away,” he told her, but there was no energy behind it. Zoe chose to ignore the instruction, and walked on in, perching herself on the edge of the bed. _

_ “How ya feelin’?” she asked him. _

_ “Like shit,” he responded. _

_ Zoe cast about for a topic of conversation. _

_ “Rosalie’s gone.” _

_ “I know.” _

_ “She said she'd write to you…..” _

_ Lucas snorted and turned his face away. _

_ “She cried  _ a lot _ ,” Zoe reported. _

_ Lucas turned back, his face brightening. _

_ “She did?” _

_ “Uh-huh.” _

_ Lucas sank back onto his pillows. _

_ “I can't fuckin’ believe Dad thought I'd hurt her…..” he brooded. “I ain't never gonna forgive ‘im for that.” _

_ They sat in silence for a while. _

_ “I'm glad you ain't dead, Lucas,” said Zoe eventually. “You wanna play ‘21’?” _

_ She produced a pack of cards from her pocket. _

_ Lucas pondered for a moment. _

_ “Yeah, why not…..” he sighed. “Loser loses a finger each round.” _

_ Zoe laughed. _

 

Lucas and her father's relationship had suffered a great deal after the incident and had never fully mended, Zoe reflected. It must have hurt that Jack had immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion, when even a comparative stranger had been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Rosalie had written faithfully for a long time, but Lucas became disillusioned and rarely wrote back. Her final letter had been a couple of years ago, announcing her engagement. Lucas had thrown the letter away.

 

Zoe found her brother working in the shadowy depths of the barn, bright industrial-style lighting focused on his workbench, surrounding him with a halo. He wore goggles, and the tip of his tongue protruded from between his lips as he concentrated hard on the piece of metal he was manipulating.

Zoe watched as sparks cascaded around him. He could be clumsy and slovenly in many ways, but when he was doing anything technical she was often startled by his skill and grace. She'd seen him fix electrical stuff, his hands buried in a complicated confusion of wires that sprouted in all directions, yet his fingers were always deft and confident, weaving in and out with a delicacy that was almost a form of physical poetry.

She could imagine him being a surgeon, if he’d had any interest in anatomy beyond tits, ass and pussy: Could see him inserting tiny stitches, taking people apart and putting them back together again, separating nerves with a steady hand, teasing out tumours and blockages.

Lucas glanced up, noticed her watching.

He shut off the equipment he was using and laid it on the bench, lifting his protective goggles up onto his head.

“What ya doin’ hangin’ around in the shadows like a stalker, Zoe?” he demanded. “Hopin’ ta catch me up to no good?”

He made a vaguely obscene gesture, clenching his fist loosely and shaking it up and down from his wrist.

“I ain't like you, I can control maself fer 5 minutes at a time!” he cackled.

“Shut up, Lucas,” said Zoe. “I was just bringin’ you lunch.”

She walked over and put the plate she carried on his bench, peering at what he'd been working on. She was surprised to see that his latest project was decorative rather than practical: A dog head relief to complete the set of three on the inside of the back door. One had gone missing years ago, and there had been an empty space on Cerberus ever since.

“Wow, Lucas! That's real, good.”

“No need to sound so surprised,” he grumbled.

She moved to pick it up, but he stopped her.

“Careful! It's still got some rough edges…..”

His hands bore testimony to the fact, his fingers covered in little nicks and cuts.

“Why didn't you wear gloves?” she asked.

“Gloves are fer wimps,” he scoffed.

Zoe examined the lump of metal in which he'd fashioned the dog's head. In detail, it matched the two on the back door perfectly, the lips drawn back in a snarl, the ears bent over with a slight tuck. It was made from a dull, silver coloured material that glowed with a subdued sheen.

“I got sick o’ that gap on the door,” he confessed. “Thought I'd replace the one that was missin’ all this time. Ya know, it’d be really cool if I could make it so that the heads were part o’ the lockin’ mechanism, like a puzzle door or somethin’.....” he mused.

“Could you actually do that?”

“I dunno. Reckon I could. Can't see the ole man agreein’ to it, though. Was jest a thought.”

He picked up the sandwich she'd brought and took a huge bite.

“What's the weather like out there?” he asked around a mouthful of bread, his voice muffled.

“Rains gettin’ harder. Think the storm's started.”

“Shit….That's us cooped up fer the next few days.”

Zoe wandered round the barn. There had been a huge door in one wall once, but after the last hurricane it had splintered and broken, so her father had boarded the entire place up. Not that they had any cattle to keep there any more. Their livestock keeping days were long over.

Zoe remembered the cows fondly - she'd always liked the huge, gentle creatures with their big brown eyes and warm, cud-smelling breath. She'd named them all, and her father had taught her how to milk them.

Now all that was left were empty stalls and stacks of rotting hay bales, the faint ghost of cow shit haunting the still air.

Lucas finished eating and replaced his goggles, his pale blue eyes almost invisible behind the thick plastic lenses.

“Watch out, now. There's gonna be sparks a-flyin’....”

Zoe retrieved the empty plate.

“Don't set the place on fire,” she cautioned as she left.

“I will,” he sniggered.

 

Lucas had brought a bunch of stuff up from the barn and it sat on the living room table whilst they ate supper.

“Barn started leakin’,” he complained. “Had to cover all my shit up with tarps. Hope it don't all blow down….”

The wind had gotten stronger during the course of the afternoon, rattling the windows in their panes and whistling through any gaps it could find.

Jack brooded and drank beer, worrying that his precautions hadn't been enough. The atmosphere around the table was edgy, and even Lucas felt it, being careful not to say or do anything that would aggravate their father.

Marguerite alone tried to make pleasant conversation, but her only response from her husband and son were grunts, although Zoe attempted to keep things light.

Jack finished eating and pushed away from the table, opening his sixth beer. Lucas regarded him cautiously from the corner of his eye. He knew if his father was in a bad mood he was the one likely to bear the brunt of it.

Jack had left his wet boots in the hall to dry and padded around in his socks. He grumbled at the sight of tools and half-finished creations on the low table in front of the tv.

“The livin’ room ain't no place for hardware!” he said.

“Maybe when you've finished eatin’ you can move your things upstairs….?” suggested Marguerite brightly, her voice pleading.

Lucas caught her eye and her meaning.

“Sure, Momma. I'll do that,” he said.

Jack shifted some stuff on the table to make room for his feet, and the dog's head Lucas had brought up to finish off fell to the floor with a heavy thud and clang.

Jack cursed, but left it where it was. Zoe began to clear the table nervously, needing something to do, even though Lucas had just taken a second helping.

_ Hurry up and move your stuff,  _ thought Zoe wildly as she heard the scraping sound of her father moving it around irritably, unable to find the perfect spot for his feet.

Jack finished his beer and grunted as he got up to get another. He had evidently forgotten about the large piece of metal on the floor, and as he shambled in the direction of the kitchen, he stubbed his toe on it.

_ “God fuckin’ dammit!” _ he roared, and Marguerite gasped at his language. Being in the Marines he had no doubt picked up a range of curse words, but he had always been careful not to use the more offensive ones around his wife.

He hopped on one foot, clutching at the other, his face red with rage and pain.

“Lucas, I fuckin’ tole you not to put your shit on the livin’ room table!”

Panicking, Lucas got up.

“I'll move it now,” he said, but Jack had already slammed down his beer bottle and scooped up an armful of tools, stooping to grab the dog head from the floor.

“Hey, wait! I said I'd move it!” protested Lucas.

“Too little, too late, boy,” snarled Jack, stomping from the room.

“No! Dad, bring it back! Where you takin’ it?”

Lucas hurried after him, only to be elbowed out of the way. He stumbled into the door, his fists clenching.

“Fuck!”

He kicked the door frame, then started to follow. Zoe looked at her mother's face, pinched with worry, and set off after them.

She caught up with them in the main hall. Jack’s heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs, Lucas’s scuttling ones close behind. Her brother was pleading with her father to stop, but Jack was determined, striding along the balcony and kicking open the door.

“Dad, fer fuck’s sake, lemme have it an’ I'll put it somewhere! Jesus Christ!”

“Don't take the Lord's name in vain!” retorted Jack curtly.

Zoe hovered in the doorway as there was a clattering sound on the veranda, Jack dumping his armful of stuff. Lucas had finally stopped, his chest heaving with anger. As their father came back in, Lucas strode towards him.

Zoe felt her stomach contract in fear at the fighting stance her brother had taken on, his shoulders squared, his arms bent stiffly.

“Lucas, no!” she called out, but he came to a halt directly in front of their father, face to face.

“Yer a goddam bully!” hissed Lucas. “Why’d ya have to be such an asshole?”

Jack’s eyebrows raised, surprised at his son’s attitude, but his expression quickly darkened.

“You wanna take me on, boy?” he said, his voice quiet but full of danger.

“Reckon I can,” replied Lucas, and despite their difference in build, Zoe thought he probably could. She hadn't seen her daddy in action, but she'd seen Lucas, and knew that whatever happened one of them, possibly both, would end up getting badly hurt.

She threw herself between them.

“Stop it, both o’ you!” she yelled, feeling her brother's quivering rage at her back, her father's slowly gathering tension in front. “We're family, we ain't supposed to be fightin’!”

“Tell your brother that,” suggested Jack, his mouth spreading in an unsettling smile.

“You'll upset Momma,” snapped Zoe, and both men jumped as if startled.

Behind her, she felt Lucas subside, drawing back a couple of steps. Jack sagged, his bearish frame suddenly appearing smaller.

They heard a door squeak, and turned to see Marguerite standing there timidly.

“What's goin’ on?” she asked.

“Nothin’, Momma,” said Lucas, and swept moodily away, his footsteps swift and hard. Zoe thought she heard the soft yet solid sound of his fist smacking into the plaster of the hall wall.

Her legs were shaking from the burst of adrenaline, but she staggered after her brother.

He heard her following as she rounded the corner.

“Fuck off, Zoe, I don't wanna hear it,” he threw over his shoulder as he slammed open the door to their old room.

He went directly to the lamp, his hand slipping beneath the shade to press the button.

“I just wanted to see if you were all right….” said Zoe.

“No. I ain't. Not by a long fuckin’ way!”

He swivelled on his heel, his red-eyed gaze fixed on her.

“One o’ these days……” 

He shook the lamp threateningly.

Zoe didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything.

Muttering to himself, Lucas climbed swiftly up the ladder, pressing the button to pull it up after him and shut him away.


	6. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eveline arrives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just the beginning.
> 
> Had to transcribe a lot of the Daughters DLC, which sucked but was necessary.

Jack tried to apologise the next day, but this time Lucas wasn't so easily won over.

“I may have overreacted, son……”

“No shit!”

Jack frowned.

“Now hold on there!”

“No, I fuckin’ won't! Every time you get drunk it's the same story, dad - all o’ us pussyfootin’ around afraid o’ upsettin’ ya. Then you do somethin’ mean, an’ you think apologisin’ after makes it ok. Well it don't!”

Lucas glowered at his father. They were standing on opposite sides of the table, Marguerite hovering anxiously in the kitchen doorway.  Zoe sat with her coffee mug halfway to her lips, watching the drama unfold, ready to intervene.

“Watch your language, Lucas,” rumbled Jack, but Lucas waved the warning away.

“Yer so busy criticisin’ the words I'm usin’ that you ain't listenin’ to what I'm sayin’!” he retorted in frustration. “You don't wanna hear it, but Imma say it anyway: Y’all should stop drinkin’ dad. I like gettin’ drunk, but if I abused mah family and hit mah kids ever’ time I did it, you can bet I wouldn't fuckin’ drink anymore.”

“Lucas, you don't understand……”

“Yes I do! Whatever it is that you're dealin’ with, the beers might help you but it don't help us none. It ain't fair. It ain't fair on me, it ain't fair on Zoe…..and it ain't fair on Momma. So you think on that the next time you open a fuckin’ bottle.”

Lucas turned on his heel and swept out of the room, slammin through the double doors.

Jack stood where he was, glancing between his wife and his daughter.

“Is that how y’all see it?” he asked finally.

Zoe nodded reluctantly. Marguerite looked away, unable to admit it.

Jack sighed and sat in his chair heavily, removing his glasses and rubbing at his eyes.

“The boy's right, then.”

“He's kinda right, daddy,” said Zoe. “It ain't all the time, it's just sometimes.”

“Well, that ain't good enough. My father…..”

He stopped, shook his head. He put his glasses back on.

“What about your father, daddy?”

Jack stared at the table top, rubbing at the grain of the wood with his thumb.

“Grandpa Baker wasn't a nice man,” he said finally. “Was a good provider, went to church every Sunday, was a fine upstandin’ member of the community. Well respected. But at home, he was a monster. Drank every night.  _ Every _ night. An’ he was a  _ mean _ drunk. Thing is, even when he wasn't drinkin’, he was a bully. Was very strict with me. Doled out beatin’s for the slightest lil infraction. Criticised everything I did. But I thought that was how it was meant to be. I thought that's how fathers were. Was only when I got older I realised it weren't right. I was scared to join the Marines cuz I was scared of leavin’ my mother to deal with him. He never hit her, but he used to say such awful things.  _ Dreadful _ things……”

He was silent for a while. Marguerite came to stand behind him, put her hand on his shoulder.

“But you joined anyway?” said Zoe.

“My mother made me. Said she could handle him. He'd stopped beatin’ me by then - I was too big. I coulda beat him back, but it never occurred to me. Then, about a week before I was due to leave somethin’ happened. He’d been workin’ in the yard, came in all covered in mud. Tracked it all through the livin’ room on his boots. My mother had spent best part of an hour polishin’ up that floor how he liked it, an’ he dirtied it up for the pure hell of it. And we had these curtains, brand new, that my mother had just hung. She'd ironed ‘em, hung ‘em up, spent a good while gettin’ the folds just right - an’ he walked right up to ‘em and wiped his dirty hands on ‘em. Just like that.”

Jack shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line.

“I took a look at my mother's face, an’ she was just starin’, mouth open, one tear just a-runnin’ down her face, an’ I snapped. Called ‘im a goddam sonofabitch. He came up to me an’ was gonna hit me, but I hit him first. Square in the face. He was a big man, but it rocked him back some. An’ we started to wrastle, knockin’ things over, just scufflin’ in the livin’ room like a coupla drunks fightin’ outside a bar. He got me in a stranglehold somehow, and was smackin’ me in the face, but suddenly he stopped. Fell down. I looked up, an’ my mother, Grandma Baker, was standing there holdin’ the shotgun by the barrel, the butt in the air. She'd hit him in the head, knocked him out.”

“Oh shit! Go Grandma!”

Jack smiled.

“Yeah, she was feisty. Thing is, she'd hit him hard. He was out cold, and we stood there waitin’ for him to come round, your Grandma trainin’ the shotgun on him….but he didn't come round. He ended up in hospital - we told ‘em he fallen - an’ he stayed unconscious for three weeks, by which time I was at sea. Grandma wrote me a letter, tellin’ me he was a different man when he woke up, sweet an’ gentle an’ mild. An’ he stayed that way till his dyin’ day.”

Jack turned to Zoe.

“The thing is, Punkin, I always swore to myself that I'd never be the man my father was. Set rules, yes, an’ be firm, but don't be mean. An’ it looks like I'm failin’ on that….”

“No, daddy - “

Jack held up a hand.

“It's ok, Punkin. I'm man enough to admit when I'm wrong. An’ when your brother's cooled off an’ is ready to talk, I'll tell him that too. My family's the most important thing in the world to me, an’ it would kill me if I ever really hurt one o’ you.”

He got to his feet.

“Now, I got some things to check on. I'd better get on with that.”

He squeezed his wife's hand and walked out of the room.

  


The storm picked up in earnest that afternoon, the winds wailing, banshee-like, around the top of the house, slanting rain against the outside walls in a relentless torrent. The entire house creaked and groaned under the onslaught, a constant background noise whatever they were doing.

Zoe tried to read, but the lights flickered and stuttered and she found it difficult to concentrate, reading the same paragraph over and over before finally giving up.

In the late afternoon she wandered upstairs, feeling restless. She found herself in the old bedroom, the ladder drawn up into the attic to signal that Lucas didn't want to be disturbed. He'd been up there all day, not even coming downstairs for lunch, although the plate Marguerite had left on the dresser had gone. Upset or not, Lucas apparently hadn't lost his appetite.

Bored, Zoe sat down at the old piano, listening to the monotonous rain and the hum of Lucas's laptop coming through the ceiling. She idly let her fingers play over the dusty, yellowing keys. It was badly out of tune, but she began to pick out a little melody.

She'd been young when she'd taught herself to play, using an old book she'd found in one of the rooms at the old house, and whilst she'd never been very good, she'd become competent enough. She'd learned several simple songs she could play on demand for visitors.

Zoe played one now, the memory of the words vague but the pattern of the keys she pressed coming back to her, humming along, inserting a word whenever she remembered it.

“Go, tell Aunt hmmm, hmmm, go tell Aunt hmmm, hmmm, go tell Aunt hmmm, hmmm …...everybody's dead….”

Lucas’s voice drifted down through the attic hatch.

“It's ‘the old grey goose is dead’, not ‘everybody’, ya morbid bitch!”

“Is it? Oh. What was the name of the Aunt?”

“Jodie or Ruby or somethin’....”

Zoe played it again more confidently.

“Stop it, now!” Lucas called down. “Yer annoyin’ me.”

Zoe sighed and put the lid down.

“I’m bored, Lucas!” she shouted. “Lemme come up.”

“No!”

“Why not? Watcha doin’ up there?”

“None o’ your business!”

Zoe went over to the trashcan by the bed and took out Lucas’s old soccer ball. On the Night of the Sherry they'd taken turns tossing it in there, competing to see who could make the shot from furthest away. Now she wandered to the floor under the hatch and began throwing it in the air, bouncing it off the ceiling and catching it. She counted to herself, and on the 23rd time Lucas exploded.

“Goddammit, Zoe, you better stop that or Imma shove that ball up yer ass!”

“I'm gonna keep doin’ it till you let me up there!”

15 rebounds later she heard him curse, and the ladder started to descend.

Triumphant, she propelled the ball across the room into the trashcan and climbed up.

Lucas was slouched at the desk at the end of the room, sitting on one chair with his feet propped up on a second.

“Move yer feet, dum-dum, an’ lemme sit down,” said Zoe, nudging his leg with her knee.

He glared at her but put his feet on the floor.

Zoe sat, trying to squint at the tabs he had open, but he pointedly turned his laptop so the screen was angled away from her.

“Fuckin’ internet’s spotty as hell,” he complained. “Reckon we'll lose it ‘fore this bastard’s done.”

“Oh dear. No more Pornhub for you.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Maybe I'll just use yer yoga video ta jerk off to,” he said. “Good enough fer you, after all.”

“You obviously ain't watched it,” said Zoe placidly, refusing to be drawn. “Women in yoga pants bendin’ into different positions? You might like it…..”

She could almost see him making a mental note, and grinned to herself.

“I'm gonna be so bored if the internet goes. I'll be stuck playin’ fuckin’ solitaire on this thing,” muttered Lucas, scrolling through whatever page he was on.

“Have you talked to Daddy yet?” Zoe asked.

“Nope. An’ I ain't gonna.” Lucas typed something.

“I think you should. He admitted you were right.”

“He did? Well fuck me sideways!” He pondered for a moment. “I'll wait. I'm gonna let ‘im sweat.”

“I really thought you were gonna hit ‘im last night.”

“I was,” said Lucas darkly. “Fuckin’ bully….”

“Apparently his dad was really abusive when he was younger.”

“Grandpa Baker? Bullshit! I remember him, was softer than a fuckin’ marshmallow.”

“Only cuz Grandma Baker hit him with the shotgun butt…..”

Zoe told Lucas the story, watching his face crease into a broad grin.

“Hell, yeah, Grandma! Should o’ shot his balls off while she was at it,” Lucas laughed. “Crazy old broad.”

He shook his head, smiling fondly at her memory.

A gust of wind shook the attic, causing the rafters to creak alarmingly, and the overhead light flickered, swinging on its cable.

“Shit!” Lucas mashed some keys on his laptop, growing increasingly frustrated, before throwing up his hands in despair. “Fuckin’ internet’s down.”

“Aw, poor baby! Looks like you're gonna haveta come downstairs an’ socialise.”

“Like fuck! I'm goin’ out to the barn, make sure it ain't flooded. Don't fuckin’ follow me!”

He shut his laptop.

“Now get outta here, Zoe! I don't want you nosin’ around my stuff.”

“Fine!”

She kicked his chair before leaving, Lucas climbing down after her.

  


Zoe watched Lucas cross the yard, his hood pulled up, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the weather. The wind shoved at him, causing him to stumble sideways as he tramped through puddles.

“Lucas has gone out to the barn, Daddy,” she reported. “You wanna talk to him, now might be a good time.”

Jack nodded, putting down his newspaper and going into the hall to retrieve his raincoat. The yellow waxed fabric was a bright spot of cheerful colour in the grey as he went out to join his son, walking upright, striding into the wind confidently.

Zoe itched to join them, but thought it was probably best to leave them to their own devices.

“Hope they don't kill each other out there,” she muttered to herself.

  


Jack and Lucas were gone a long time, but their return was signalled by the crash of the back door as the wind snatched it from her father's hands.

“Holy shit, that's strong!” observed Lucas.

Zoe sagged in relief. Her brother sounded at ease, the spiteful edge to his voice all gone.

“Only gonna get stronger,” replied Jack comfortably.

Zoe wondered what they'd talked about out there to make them friends again.

Lucas was drenched, his hoodie soaked through, and he stripped it off with a grimace.

“Toss it in the laundry room, cher,” instructed Marguerite. “I’ll deal with it later.”

Zoe followed her brother, ignoring his look of irritation.

“Goddammit Zoe, yer like a fly on shit!” he said, shoving his hoodie into the dryer. His t-shirt was also wet, the fabric almost transparent, and he pulled that off over his head too.

“That makes you the shit,” she pointed out. “What did you and Daddy talk about out there?”

“Real nosey, ain't ya?”

Zoe shrugged. She was fine with that character assessment.

“Dad told me about his time in the Marines,” he said. “Was actually pretty interestin’, some o’ the stuff he got up to.”

“Did he say anythin’ about the Arklay Mountains?”

“What? No. Why?”

“Momma said he went there on a secret mission once.”

“Couldn't o’ been that secret if he told her about it.”

“He didn't tell her what he did there, just that he was there. It's near Raccoon City.”

Lucas frowned.

“Now that sounds familiar…...Yeah, I heard o’ that place! Was a radiation leak there, you can't go there now. An’ the Arklay Mountains, I'm pretty sure there were a bunch of murders there one time. Real gory shit - cannibalism.”

He grinned. Zoe wasn't surprised his morbid memory had made a note of that event.

“I'd look it up for ya if the internet was working….”

“That's ok. I don't really wanna hear about cannibals.”

“Your loss. Now get outta here! I wanna change my pants.”

He shooed her out.

  


Zoe couldn't sleep. The hurricane was in full force now, the swamp waters rising as the rain continued to fall. From her bedroom window she could see the choppy waters hurled against the banks and the trees, coming closer to the house. The last big storm they'd suffered had brought the swamp up to their doors, and with it had come the gators. It had been surreal seeing the yard filled with water and alligators just chilling out by the trailer, grinning interlopers that drifted outside the windows.

A deafening smashing sound from nearby startled a small squeal from her, and she got out of bed, padding over to her door. She could hear her father cursing along the hall.

Zoe came out of her room to be greeted by a blast of cold air and rain spraying her face. A window had smashed, a tree branch flung through it. Shards of glass sparkled dangerously on the floor.

Her parent's bedroom door opened and Jack came out, his hair spiked up in all directions, his glasses crooked. He wore his blue striped pyjamas but had hastily pulled on his work boots. Behind him Marguerite hovered like a ghost in her long white nightgown.

Spotting Zoe, Jack called out to her.

“Go wake yer brother, Punkin. I'm gonna need his help.”

“Already awake.”

Lucas appeared in the corridor, rubbing his eyes.

“I'll go get the hammer,” he yawned, and set off down the stairs.

They were nailing boards over the gap when there was another smashing sound from the rec room.

Marguerite paused in the act of sweeping up the glass.

“Sounds like another one, Jack!”

“I'll get to it when I finished this ‘un,” he said.

Zoe had been mopping up water, but went to investigate. The rec room looked like something out of The Exorcist, the wind screaming in from the veranda. The curtains flapped inwards, snapping heavily in the air, and rain rushed in through the new hole.

Zoe fought her way over to the window, wondering what had broken this one. There was nothing on the floor but broken glass. The whole room was suddenly lit up by a flash of lightning, and she squinted against the glare, but in that instant saw something on the horizon - some big, looming shape in the swamp.

What the fuck was it? Zoe peered out of the window, but the skyline was dark now and all she got for her trouble was a face full of cold water and wind.

  


  


_ October 9 _ _   
_ _ The water has finally receded. The house is alright, but the old house was badly damaged. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Lucas is making a fuss about a huge ship that's washed up in the bayou. If that's true, I better report it to the parish. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I'll go check it out tomorrow. _

  


__

  * __ Jack’s Journal _ _



  


After 3 days of being cooped up inside with no internet, Lucas was restless.

The water hadn't reached the main house this time, but the flooding had made going further than the backyard impossible. It had been too dangerous, anyway, with the wind throwing debris around.

The rain continued, but in a more subdued form, drizzling lazily as if it had worn itself out. Jack put on his raincoat to go and assess the damage, but Lucas was in a more adventurous frame of mind.

“I'm gonna go check out the swamp, see if the floods brought up anythin’ interestin’,” he told Zoe, zipping up his hoodie. “You wanna come?”

Zoe was surprised at the invitation, and considered it for a moment, but a peek out at the muddy lawn put her off. Lucas never minded getting dirty, but she did.

“I think I'll pass,” she said. “I'll wait till it's drier.”

“Pussy,” said Lucas, and disappeared out into the rain.

She gave the finger to his retreating back.

Last time the swamp had flooded Lucas had found a gator skull washed up on the path, and although he'd been delighted with his find, Marguerite had refused to allow it in the house.

Zoe thought he still had it out in the barn somewhere, and wondered what he would find today. Probably nothing more than some old tree stumps.

  


“There's a fuckin’ ship in the bayou!”

Lucas burst into the dining room. He was covered in mud and completely drenched but his eyes were alight with an enthusiasm and excitement Zoe hadn't seen on his face in a long time.

“A ship?”

Jack looked up from his lunch, a look of disbelief on his face.

“Yeah! An honest to god, motherfuckin’ ship,” said Lucas. “I couldn't get close enough to it to get a good look, though. Gonna need to take the boat out, I reckon.”

“Well, I'll be danged,” said Jack. “Musta run aground in the storm, though I can't imagine how. It a big one?”

“Uh-huh. Don't look like a passenger ship, though, more like a tanker. I bet there's some sweet-ass stuff I could salvage from it.”

“Now, son, we can't just go takin’ stuff that don't belong to us,” said Jack sagely. “I'm gonna have to report it to the parish as soon as I can get into town.”

“Aw, dad! C’mon! Nobody’ll miss a few bits an’ pieces,” complained Lucas.

“There might be people on it!” exclaimed Marguerite. “Jack, we have to help them.”

“Can't do nothin’ today, Momma. Water’s still too high,” said Lucas.

“I guess not.”

Marguerite looked disappointed that she wouldn't be feeding a multitude of crew members that day. She eyed her son.

“Lucas, you best get outta those dirty, wet clothes,” she said. “I don't want you gettin’ pneumonia.”

“Or oldmonia,” chuckled Jack.

Lucas groaned at the dad-joke and went off to get changed.

  


Zoe bumped into her brother outside the bathroom. He had a towel round his waist, and his skin was flushed red. Lucas liked his showers so hot he often emerged looking like a boiled lobster.

“Are you sure it's a ship?” she asked him.

He scowled at her.

“I know what a fuckin’ ship looks like, Zoe! Get outta my way.”

“I think I saw it a couple o’ nights ago, when those two windows smashed. Saw somethin’ in the swamp - somethin’ big!”

“Are you sure it was a ship?” he asked sarcastically.

“No, but it'd make sense that that's what I saw. Means it's been there a few days now. There have to be people on it.”

“I guess.” Lucas shrugged. He didn't care about survivors; he was more interested in what he could salvage. “Now fuck off, will ya?”

  


There was drama the next day when Jack refused to let Lucas go with him to explore the ship.

“I found it! I should be the one to go investigate, “ complained Lucas.

“Sorry, son, but it could be dangerous,” said Jack, packing a first aid kit into a backpack. “We don't know what we're gonna find out there.”

“I ain't worried! Danger’s my middle name!”

“I thought it was Jeremiah,” said Zoe.

“Shut the fuck up, Zoe!”

“Lucas!”

“It ain't fair, though! I wanna go!”

“Well, you're not. Not today at least. I'll find out what I can an’ report back,” said Jack, the firm note in his voice brooking no argument.

“Goddammit!” Lucas kicked the door on the way out, storming upstairs.

Jack watched him go, shaking his head at his son's temper.

“Well, guess I'll see you in awhile,” he said, kissing his wife.

“Be careful out there,” she pleaded, and with that he left.

  


Jack returned a couple of hours later, and he wasn't alone.

The woman with him was drenched to the skin, her brown hair straggling against a face that was pale and exhausted. She could barely walk, and Jack had to support her with her arm across his broad shoulders.

“Oh my lord!”

Marguerite rushed over to the pair, her hands to her face.

“Are you ok, honey? Were you on the ship?”

The woman stared at her, managing to nod to head.

“Well, let's get you warmed up, you poor thing! Zoe, go get her a blanket.”

Zoe rushed off to the laundry room, brushing past the woman as she went. Her skin was damp and clammy.

Lucas, attracted by all the commotion, wandered down to see what was going on, entering the room with Zoe.

The newcomer was sat on one of the wooden chairs, her dead drooping wearily as Jack and Marguerite talked in hushed tones.

“Here y’are,” said Zoe, putting the blanket around the woman's shoulders. She lifted her head, her lips pulling into a smile of gratitude.

Lucas kept his distance, suspicious of strangers and shy of women, but he examined her carefully, taking in her dirty jeans and wet top. The outline of her bra was clearly visible through the translucent fabric, and he eyed her shiftily, his gaze furtive and guilty.

Zoe frowned at him. She didn't want to chastise him out loud and alert the others to his creepy staring, but she couldn't get his attention the way he was ogling the woman. She coughed, an exaggerated, pointed sound, and he jumped, looking away. His ears went red the way they always did when he was embarrassed.

“.....the only one I found, but there have to be others,” Jack was saying. “I'm gonna do one more circuit of the thing. I can't give up.”

“No, o’ course you can't! You go on, cher, I'll take care o’ our guest.”

Jack went back out into the night.

Marguerite placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of the woman, who picked it up with shaking hands, taking a cautious sip.

“Well now, I guess I should introduce us,” said Marguerite.  “I'm Marguerite Baker, an’ that gentleman who just left is my husband Jack. An’ this here's my daughter Zoe an’ my son Lucas. You got a name, honey?”

“M-Mia,” she stuttered, her teeth starting to chatter. She pulled the blanket more tightly around her.

“Aw, ain't that a pretty name! You want somethin’ to eat, Mia?”

Mia shook her head.

“Just want to sleep,” she whispered.

“Of course. Well, you can have the old bedroom upstairs…..”

“No! I….is there anywhere else? Farther away from you all? I don't want to bother you,” she said.

“Oh, you won't bother us! Really.”

“I'd rather go out there….” said Mia, looking out of the window to the trailer outside.

“Out in the trailer? Well, if you're sure…..” Marguerite looked puzzled.

Mia managed a smile.

“Yes. Thank you. You've been very kind, but I want to be alone for a while.”

Marguerite helped her to her feet, and they left the room together.

“What a fuckin’ weirdo!” said Lucas when they were out of earshot.

“You didn't seem to find her tits weird,” said Zoe, drawing a satisfying blush from him.

“She look like she works on a tanker to you?” he said, trying to divert her attention.

“Not really, but she could I guess. Wonder where all the other crew went?”

He shrugged.

“They prolly got off themselves,” said Lucas. “How am I supposed to know?”

He slumped down at the table, got his phone from his pocket.

“Hey, we got internet!” he said happily, and began to browse.

  


Zoe was watching a news report about the storm when her father returned.

Lucas was loitering in the kitchen doorway and Marguerite was cooking, filling the air with a savoury aroma.

“Marguerite! Open up. I found another one.”

Marguerite hurried towards the double doors, pulling them open. Jack walked in, carrying a little girl, her hair over her face and her clothes soaked in some glistening, oily substance that looked like more than just swamp water.

Lucas barely glanced up, not interested in children, but Zoe wandered over to look. There was a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach as she took in the child's black dress and pale skin - something that seemed familiar but at the same time totally alien. The girl had her arm thrown up around her father’s shoulder in a way that seemed almost possessive. 

“Oh….oh she's so young,” her mother was saying.

“Yeah,” said Jack. “How's our other guest?”

“Sleeping - poor thing.”

“I say let ‘em. They'll be ok here for a few days - at least until we can get them into town.”

“Zoe,” her mother said. “Go get some fresh clothes from the laundry room. Ok?”

She turned her attention back to the girl, lifting her limp arm and studying the strange strange substance coating her.

“Looks like there was some sorta oil spill or something.” She sighed. “Let's get this poor girl some fresh clothes and into a warm bed. We'll put her in Lucas’s old room.”

Lucas’s head snapped up at that, finally showing interest now that he was mentioned. He looked horrified.

“Aw come on! Can't you put her somewhere else?”

“Oh Lucas, you just hush. You've long outgrown that room,” scolded Jack.

Her brother turned away angrily, evidently thinking about his loss of attic privileges whilst the girl was there, and Zoe had to stifle a smirk. Just when the internet was back too.

Jack looked at Marguerite, a half smile on his face.

“I always wanted to run a bed and breakfast,” he said.

Marguerite smiled back fondly.

“Got your big break, didn't ya?” She ushered them out of the room. “Get her to bed, I'll put some soup on. Good night for soup, don't you think? Excuse me, Lucas.”

Lucas had returned to the doorway, but their mother waved him out of the way. He resumed his station back at the table, his face sullen, sitting himself in their father's chair.

Zoe watched her mother pottering about, stirring the big pot on the stove, and felt an unexpected wave of emotion wash over her. She suddenly had an urge to hug her mother, tell her she loved her. Instead, she went to the laundry room.

  


The Bakers rarely threw anything away. There were rooms full of junk that bore testament to that fact, and clothes were no different. Zoe found a stack of her old clothes and began to sort through them, trying to find something that would fit the girl. She wasn't a good judge of age, so she had to guess at the sizes, but she eventually found some things she thought would be ok.

As she climbed the stairs, she tried hard to shake the feeling that something was wrong. The unease that had hung over her for the past couple of weeks was back in full force, and it made her feel sick with anxiety.

Her father was in the old room, standing over the girl as she lay on her side on Lucas's old bed. Her hair was spread out behind her in oily rat tails, making her look for all the world like a gorgon.

Jack turned to her.

“Honey, please get her cleaned up and into some dry clothes. I need to check on the boat house. It was half underwater last I looked.”

“Yes Daddy.”

_ Don't leave me alone with her!  _ she thought, not sure why she was thinking it. There was something about the child that she didn't like, something  _ off _ .

Zoe shuddered as her father closed the door, shutting her in with the thing on the bed.

_ She's just a child, Zoe, _ she told herself.  _ Calm the fuck down. _

She went over to the bed, laying the clothes on the mattress.

“Alright, little girl. Let's get you cleaned up.”

The girl lifted her head, her eyes opening.

“They're mine now,” she said, smiling.

“What?”

Was the child delirious?

Lightning flashed, illuminating the small face with its pale eyes and faint dusting of freckles over the nose.

There was a crashing sound that could have been thunder, and the lights went out.

  


Zoe gasped, the sudden noise and absence of light only adding to the weirdness of the situation. There was giggling, but it seemed to come from all around her, and she twisted in the darkness trying to gauge its direction.

A slice of light appeared as the door opened, and Zoe turned to see the child slipping out, shutting the door behind her, plunging the room into blackness again.

_ Shit! _

Zoe fumbled in her pocket for her lighter, flipping the lid up and striking the wheel with her thumb. A yellow flame sprang from the wick, providing enough weak light to show the area around her.

Where the girl had been lying was a dark stain, somehow monstrous with its pattern of imprinted hair, tendrils that spread out like tentacles. Zoe had to find her - she couldn't let her run around the house in the dark.

She called out without much hope.

“Daddy, is the power out?”

Stupid question, of course it fucking was. But why?

Nobody answered, so she talked to herself, needing to latch on to some normality.

“Was there a lightning strike?” she mused. It seemed likely.

She opened the door, listening for sounds of movement. All she could hear was the rain against the window panes and a faucet dripping in the bathroom. She walked along the hall, holding her lighter up, scanning her surroundings. As she reached the top of the staircase, there was a clattering and thumping from below, and she ran down, trying to be as fast as she could without tripping in the poor light.

The double doors to the dining room were open and through them she could see the heavy dinner table tipped over on its side, the chairs scattered across the floor. Had Lucas knocked everything over stumbling around in the dark, that dipshit?

She went through the doors, instinctively glancing to her left as she went. Her mother wasn't in the kitchen where she'd last seen her, and she frowned. Had she gone to check out the power outage? Why hadn't she stayed put?

Zoe glimpsed something pale to her right and swung her lighter round. Lucas lay sprawled on the floor, his loosely curled hands outstretched, his body motionless. Rushing over to him, she knelt by his side, putting her hand on his shoulder.

“Lucas? What happened? Are you ok?”

She shook him gently, and his head rolled loosely on his neck. She couldn't see any injuries, but he seemed to be out cold.

Getting to her feet, she wasn't sure what to do. She looked around for his phone, thinking she could maybe call 911, but couldn't spot it anywhere.

There was a noise upstairs, a muffled voice talking that sounded like it could be her mother. What the fuck…? She didn't want to leave her brother, but if Momma was upstairs she needed to find her.

Her lighter was getting hot in her hand so she closed it, allowing it to cool down as she made her way upstairs by memory and the faint illumination that seemed to be coming from up there. Was there a light on somewhere? How was that possible? She saw a shadow twisting on the wall.

Something was definitely wrong, more than just a power outage. She could feel it like a worrying thought at the back of her mind and as a weird sensation that raised a scattering of goosebumps on her arms. She could hear the voice more clearly as she reached the top of the stairs and now she was sure it was her mother, speaking in an almost dreamy voice. It sounded like she was talking to someone, though Zoe couldn't hear the other person.

_ “I know. I know. That's right. All are welcome…..” _

She was in the bathroom. Zoe pushed open the door.

There was light in here, coming from a lantern hung on the wall. The bathtub was filled with water, almost to the brim. Marguerite stood by it with her back to her.

“Momma, is that you?”

A stupid question, maybe, as it was obviously her mother, but Zoe didn't know what else to say. Marguerite swayed on her feet, her head tilting to the side. Zoe wanted her to turn around so she could be reassured, but at the same time there was something dreadful about her mother's stance that made her think that she possibly didn't want to see her face after all.

“Zoe?” said her mother dreamily. “Come look. Come see her gift. Look at all the pretties  _ my little girl has given me!” _

Marguerite turned and lunged towards her. Her mouth was open, and a multitude of centipedes with thrashing legs burst from between her lips. They tumbled from her throat, too many to count, spilling out into Zoe’s face. Her eyes were alight with insanity and a vicious sort of glee.

Zoe shrieked, trying to push her away, but she was hideously strong.

“Jesus!”

Her father appeared, shoving past Zoe and grabbing Marguerite, wrestling with her as she laughed.

“Kiss me, lover!”

Marguerite darted her head forward, a huge centipede waggling back and forth like an obscene tongue.

“Marguerite, what the hell?”

Zoe knew her Daddy was strong. She'd seen him heft huge boards in the past couple of days,  saw him carry that little girl from the swamp to the house, but under the onslaught from her mother he was bent backwards, barely able to control her.

“Get to the garage!” he shouted back to Zoe as Marguerite lurched at her, darting her head over her husband's shoulder. “Get some rope! Go - now!”

Zoe staggered back out of the room, weeping in panic, as her father slammed the door.

“Aw, get outta my way, Jack!” She heard her mother cackle, witch-like. “The girl's our family now, and we're hers!”

Her mother's was sounded harsh and guttural, completely unlike her natural tone, and it followed her as she rushed to the stairs. Her knees felt wobbly, threatening to spill her head over heels, but she staggered onwards.

Lucas still lay on the dining room floor, blissfully unconscious, unaware of what was happening, and for a moment she felt a stab of envy. She almost wished she was in his position.

Behind her, she could hear her parents struggling.

The garage door was old and squeaky, and after she'd mashed the button to open it she jiggled impatiently as she waited for it to rise, ducking under the slow moving metal as soon as the gap was large enough. There was a length of sturdy looking rope hung on a hook directly in front of her, and she sent up some silent prayer to whomever might be watching her, thankful that it had been easy to find.

As she ran back up the stairs, she realised that the voices had stopped, and this new development was more ominous than the arguing had been. Her breath shuddered in her throat as she approached the bathroom, wondering what new horror she would face.

There was the sound of water splashing, and a throaty bubbling noise. Terrified, she pushed the bathroom door open.

Her father had her mother by the back of the neck, one huge hand tangled in her hair as he pushed her face into the bathtub. Marguerite thrashed against him, spluttering water as she she tried to breath. As Zoe watched, he pulled her up, only to duck her under again.

“Daddy? Stop it!”

Jack released her, her mother gasping for air as she reared up out of the water. He turned to Zoe, an awful smile stretching his lips as he looked at her. It looked like he'd never seen a smile before and was trying to produce one based on a description, and it was horribly wrong.

“Don't you worry. It's a whole lot worse than it looks.” His lips twitched, baring his teeth.  “Cleanliness is next to godliness, and your mother's pretty fucking close to meeting him right now.”

With that, he turned and grabbed her again, forcing her head into the tub one last time, smacking her face against the surface of the water with a savage flourish.

He started to walk towards Zoe, and she searched his face for any hint of sanity, any glimpse of the man she knew as her father, but found none. She tried to get her feet to move, but she felt petrified, paralysed by her terror.

“She wants me to do this,” he said, his voice quieter but no gentler, and that grimace was back again, a snarling rictus twisting his mouth.

From out of nowhere, it seemed, he produced his hunting knife, the blade held in front of her face, its point towards her. Now she tried to stagger back, but his hand, impossibly strong, gripped her shoulder, holding her in place.

“I have to show her how devoted I am!”

She screamed as the knife descended, but his wrist twisted and instead of plunging the blade into her, he stuck it into his own chest. Blood splashed into her face, the wet sound of the knife tearing through muscle pushing her to the brink of hysteria.

“She wants us  _ all _ to show her our love!”

There was a crazy kind of ecstasy in his tone as he angled the knife, ripping it across his chest, carving a long gash into himself. A spray of blood splashed upwards, splattering into his beard and speckling the lenses of his glasses. It dripped down his face, creating a gory mask.

“Daddy….” she begged, trying to pull away from him, delirious with fear.

He brought his face close to hers.

“You don't wanna disappoint her, now do ya? We can't do that.”

“Who are you talking about?”

Her voice was a shaky whine. She understood none of what was happening, and in her horror tried to make sense out of the confusion.

“Your new sister, Evie!”

The little girl. It had to be.

He pushed her backwards brutally, his expression shifting to anger. She had never seen him so furious, never seen the look on his face he had now. Even when he'd been facing off Lucas the other night, there had not been this rage, this desire to kill written so plainly.

Zoe stumbled and nearly fell, her weak legs fighting to support her. Her father stood, framed by the doorway, his face gaudy with his own blood. She turned, attempting to run in the lopsided stagger that was the only effort  her body could produce. Behind her, Jack was lecturing her in a travesty of parenting.

“When I ask for rope, I expect to get rope. Imma just gonna have to teach you a lesson.”

The soles of her shoes slapped the wooden boards in an irregular staccato as she ran along the hall. She could hear her father's boots following, ponderous and inexorable, the boards creaking under his progress.

Zoe ran to the rec room. She still had the rope, and she tucked her lighter frantically into her pocket as she fumbled the rope onto the door’s latch. It had broken long ago, but had never been a problem until now.

The door secured, she twisted, looking for escape. The boarded up window leapt into her line of vision, the yellow paint splashed over the planks attracting her attention. She hurried over to it, grabbing at the boards and tugging in vain. They didn't budge, and she moaned helplessly.

Grandma’s room! She remembered the uncleared plate, and the fork next to it.

Nearly tripping, she crossed the floor where she’d set out her yoga mat a hundred years ago. She could hear her father at the door now, crashing his weight against the wood, cursing her, and she prayed that it would hold.

Zoe snatched up the fork and returned to the window, hooking the tines under the head of the protruding nail holding the board in place. She levered it out, the nail squealing as it was ripped from the wood, and turned her efforts to the other one.

A torrent of threats poured through the door, the wood finally splintering as Jack crashed through. Zoe tossed the board aside and dove through the window, shrieking as her father thundered into the room.

_ Please don't follow!  _ She thought wildly, and for a wonder Jack stopped as she disappeared outside.

“I ain't got time for this,” he muttered irritably.

Zoe crept along the veranda, the rain a steady backdrop to the drama. She was trembling so hard she could barely walk, but doggedly continued to put one foot in front of the other. She didn’t know where she was headed, but knew she had to get out of the house and find help.

She peered through the latticed wood that enclosed the verandah. It was thin and brittle, and she thought she could probably break it, but even with the ground below softened by the rain, it was too far to fall and she might injure herself. Looking around, she spotted a rusty sheet of corrugated metal roughly nailed over another hole that led back into the house. One corner had come loose, and as she approached it she heard her brother's voice drifting through the gap.

“Hey! What the hell, Dad?”

He had Lucas! Zoe crouched down, grabbing the edge of the metal. It cut her hands, but she didn't have time to worry about tetanus. With some effort, she managed to bend it back, hearing Lucas and her father inside. Jack was grunting, whilst Lucas cursed at him.

She bent and peered through the hole.

Lucas was on his back, thrashing helplessly like a grounded fish as their father dragged him across the floor by his ankle.

“Let me tell you something, boy. You are gonna be her big brother,” Jack was saying, drowning out Lucas’s complaints and pleas for release.

“Get off me!” screamed Lucas in a frightened, desperate tone she'd never heard from him before. 

Unmoved, Jack towed his struggling weight effortlessly into the old bedroom, the door slamming shut with a sinister finality.

She wanted to help, but what could she do?

Zoe crawled inside and tiptoed, quivering, to the door. Above the sound of her gasping breaths, she heard strange noises from inside, wet gristly sounds that defied explanation. Lucas had stopped screaming now, and the thumping that replaced his cries wove endlessly with the squelching of whatever was going on in there.

What the fuck was he doing to him?

Weeping, Zoe crept away.

The door to the balcony was ajar, and there was a yellow light emitting from beyond it. Cautiously, Zoe peered through, the light moving and swaying as she watched. Her mother came into sight, swinging her light around, searching the shadows.

“You're gonna have a little sister, Zoe!” she called out into the vastness of the hall. She sounded delighted.

Nothing that was happening made sense, and none of it seemed possible. As Zoe sneaked down the stairs, dodging the dancing beam of light, she wondered how the fuck a little girl could cause so much chaos. Had there been some sort of chemical on the tanker that was affecting their minds? It was the only answer she could think of, although it didnt begin to explain the centipedes in her mother's mouth.

Mia. That woman. Zoe had to get to the trailer and find her. Maybe she understood what was happening, and maybe she could help.

She waited until Marguerite had wandered away and crept through the darkened hall, listening for her mother's approach. She could hear her croaking and screeching, making odd choking noises, and shuddered at the thought of those bugs. The back door was ahead of her and, taking the opportunity, she burst through it.

The rain soaked her instantly, but she'd never been so happy to feel it. She descended the steps to the waterlogged lawn, her feet sinking into the mud and started to walk to the silent trailer.

Her muscles were spasming and twitching from the coiled tension, and her jeans felt damp at the crotch: Somewhere during the terror, she'd peed herself and hadn't noticed.

The trailer door swung open easily when she pushed it.

Mia was lying on the floor at one end, apparently unconscious. Zoe lit her lighter again, leaning over the prostrate woman. There was something by her hand, some weird, shrivelled looking thing bound with wire that Zoe didn't want to touch. It looked like some kind of dried up fetus. What the fuck….?

There was a scribbled note on a scrap of paper on the table.

  


  


_ “To the Baker Family. _

  


_ Thank you for saving my life. _

_ But please forget all about me. _

  


_ I was assigned to transport some important cargo on that ship. Getting involved with me, or that cargo, can only cause trouble for your family. Big trouble. _

  


_ Please don't contact the police or state authorities. Just pretend we never met. _

  


_ And...you saved me, so take this advice in return. _

_ If you see a girl near the ship who looks about ten years old, DO NOT approach her. _

  


_ If she talks to you, get away as quickly as you can. _

_ Just try not to make her angry in the process. _

_ If you've been feeling ill at all, then I'm afraid the worst may already have happened. _

_ It's a fate worse than death, and it can't be cured at a hospital. I'm so sorry. _

__ There's a way to stop it though…….”

  


The end part was illegible, the paper damp and blotted.

Zoe let the paper fall from her numb fingers. Too late. It was too late. This woman had brought death to their house in some fucked up, indescribable form and thanked them for their hospitality. Zoe wanted to kick her prone body.

Her lighter flame guttered and went out. She stood very still in the darkness. There was someone else in there with them.

“Sisterrr…..” said a little, sing-song voice behind her, followed by a giggle.

Slowly, Zoe turned around. Though she tried to resist, it was as though invisible hands gripped her, forcing her to spin.

The girl was there, her face illuminated from below by some unnatural light.

She laughed, and everything for Zoe went black.

  


It was morning. The rain had stopped.

Zoe was sat at the table, looking down at her own legs as beams of sunlight fell across them.

Confused, she looked around.

Lucas sat next to her, not sparing her a glance as he concentrated on his phone. He had a scowl on his face that was all too familiar; Lucas wasn't a morning person.

Her parents were huddled by the kitchen, talking quietly together.

Had she fallen asleep?

“Well well, now, look who’s decided to join us!” said Jack jovially as he joined them at the table.

“Wake up an’ smell the shitty coffee, Zoe,” said Lucas sourly.

“Lucas….” Jack shot him a warning look.

“Are you okay, dear?” asked her mother, setting a mug of coffee down in front of her. “There was a lot of excitement from that storm last night.”

Normal. Everything normal.

“I'm fine,” said Zoe, even though she really wasn't. “I had the weirdest dream last night…..There was this little girl - “

“Well now, after breakfast, uh…..” Jack broke in, interrupting her.

Was it her imagination, or did her parents exchange a look?

“....Lucas an’ i are gonna have a look around and see if the storm did any damage.”

Her brother's look of horror at being roped in to doing a menial task was typical of him, but the whole scenario didn't feel right, as though the normality was being forced. She felt faint and nauseous, her vision taking on a greyish hue that made her head spin, and as her parents continued to discuss banalities reality seemed to waver.

The girl stood there, off to one side, watching as Zoe’s hearing became muffled, cutting her off from her family, singling her out. Nobody acknowledged the child, but her eyes were fixed on Zoe, boring into her and filling her with dread.

In a sudden rush, she was face to face with her, the child looming over her, blocking everything out.

“Hello, sister.”


	7. Infection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eveline starts to dig her claws into the Bakers

_ October 11 _

_   
_ _ My ears have been ringing all day and I haven't been able to sleep since the child showed up. It's like Zoe says: There's something strange about the child, and the woman she brought with her. _

 

  * __Marguerite’s Notebook__



 

 

There was mold in the bathroom that hadn't been there yesterday.

Zoe lay in the tub, staring across at the shower. The mold was black and greasy looking, and it wove tendrils between the old, chipped tiles. Looking at it made Zoe feel ill, but she couldn't stop.

She'd been lying there for over an hour now, and in that time she could swear the black stuff had spread. She'd have to tell her mother.

Zoe was tired. She'd been trying to sort out her thoughts since she'd woken at the table that morning, but she'd come no closer to divining what was real and what wasn't.

The girl existed: Of that she was certain. Eveline was sleeping in their old room, snug as a bug in Lucas’s childhood bed.

Mia was real: She'd come in from the trailer around lunchtime, her face puffy as if she'd been crying. She looked ill and refused any food.

Aside from that, Zoe was clueless.

Marguerite and Jack looked mystified when she tried to tell them of the events she remembered from the previous night, both insisting that she must have been dreaming.

Lucas refused to talk to her. Whatever had happened in that room with their father,  _ if _ it had happened, Lucas wasn't telling.

The bathwater was going cold, but Zoe didn't want to get out, despite the mold. Even though she would swear she witnessed her father trying to drown her mother in the tub only the night before, she felt safe there.

She closed her eyes, listening to the irregular drip of water from the faucet.

“Hello, sister!”

Zoe gasped. Eveline stood by the side of the bath, a pleasant smile on her face.

“You've been in there a long time. Won't you get out and play with me?”

Embarrassed by the child's presence, Zoe attempted to cover herself with an arm across her breasts, clutching a sponge to her crotch.

“Eveline! What are you…..how did you get in here?”

She looked over at the door. It was still shut, and she was sure she'd locked it.

“I'm bored,” said Eveline, ignoring Zoe’s question. “You should get out now.”

“Um….ok sweetheart….but you should leave. This here's private time….”

The girl creeped her out, but for some reason she didn't feel like she should piss her off.

Eveline stood there a moment longer, staring at her, before her face broke into a smile.

“Ok! See you soon, sister….Don't be long, now.”

It sounded like a warning.

Zoe watched her skip away, making sure the coast was clear before she got out of the tub, snatching up a towel and wrapping it round her swiftly in case the kid decided to come back in.

She couldn't wait until the roads were clear and they could take to creepy kid and the miserable woman into town.

 

When she went downstairs, she found Eveline sitting at the table with Mia and Lucas.

“Zoe! Come join in!” called Eveline excitedly. “We're playing 21 and I'm winning!”

Lucas cast a look in her direction. He looked trapped.

“You can take my place, Zoe,” he offered quickly.

“No! We all play!” insisted Eveline, and Zoe winced. Kid or not, anyone ordering Lucas around like that was likely to get a mouthful of abuse, but to her surprise her brother merely dealt out another hand.

“I'll join you in a minute,” said Zoe as pleasantly as she could. “I gotta help Momma with supper.”

“Okay! Hmm, I'll stay. What about you, Mommy?”

Mia stared down at her cards mutely, clutching them so tightly they were bending. Her knuckles were white, her fingernails bitten right down.

Mommy? Mia was her mother?

The woman licked her lips.

“Hit me,” she said in a hoarse voice. Lucas tossed her a card.

From where she was standing, Zoe could see that she held a 5, a 7 and a 9.

“Hit me,” she said again after a long pause.

Zoe frowned and went into the kitchen.

Marguerite was stirring the pot of soup from the night before, staring at the wall above the stove as if in a trance. Zoe watched her for a while, her mother's arm moving in a circle, round and round at a constant speed, the ladle scraping the bottom of the pot in an even rhythm.

“Momma?” she said.

Marguerite carried on stirring.

“Momma!” said Zoe louder. Marguerite jerked, startled, turning her head.

“Oh! Sorry, cher….I didn't hear you.”

“You need some help with supper?” offered Zoe.

“Oh, no. Just warmin’ up the soup from last night. Can't think why we didn't eat it then…..” she said, sounding puzzled.

She began stirring again.

Zoe drifted into the living room where her father was watching tv.

“I win  _ again! _ ” said Eveline excitedly from behind her.

“Yeah, yer sure on a roll….” said Lucas uncertainly.

Jack was watching a ball game, his face emotionless. There was no sign of any injury on his chest. 

“You feelin’ ok, daddy?” she asked. Dream or not, the memory of that awful rage on his face made her shudder, but he looked….odd, now. As if he was on charge.

“I'm fine honey. Just watchin’ the ballgame,” he said, his voice almost robotic.

“Who’s winnin’?”

Jack frowned.

“That - that one team there…..” His voice trailed off. “The ones in blue….”

Zoe looked at the screen. Neither of the teams were wearing blue.

“Well, that's great, daddy!” she said with forced brightness.

She didn't want to go into the dining room and join in the card game, but she was running out of options.

“Zoeeee…..”

Zoe shuddered internally at the childish voice calling her name.

“Come join us.”

Lucas was staring at her, a pleading look on his face. His complexion was grey and sickly looking, his eyes red as if he hadn't slept.

“Supper’s ready!” called Marguerite in a sing-song voice, and Zoe sighed in relief.

“Yay! I'm hungry. Aren't you, Mommy?”

Mia smiled weakly.

“I feel a little sick, actually, sweetie,” she said, her lips trembling.

Eveline frowned at her.

“You have to eat something. You have to keep your strength up!” she said sternly. 

Jack disappeared from the room and returned a few minutes later carrying two extra chairs.

For a moment, the scene resembled an ordinary family dinner, with everyone arranging themselves around the table, Marguerite passing out bowls.

Zoe wedged herself between Lucas and Mia, wanting to keep as far away from the little girl as possible. The child sat between her parents, looking tiny next to Jack.

“Let's say grace, now,” instructed Jack, extending his hands either side.

Eveline took his huge paw in one of her small hands, and Zoe saw her father's face twitch at the contact.

“Dear Lord,” began Jack. “Thank you for the food on our table, and for the safe delivery of our new daughter. Thank you for givin’ us the chance to be her family. Thank her for our gift, that we must accept, and let all that oppose us be dashed against the stones…...Amen.”

Zoe risked glance sideways at Lucas. He was staring at their father in horror, his face mirroring her own emotions, yet their mother was smiling indulgently.

“Amen!” she repeated, and started to serve the soup.

Zoe remembered the smell of the soup from last night. It had been savoury and delicious. Now it smelled wrong - not rotten, but with a slight, swampy edge to it. She dipped her spoon into the mixture, stirring up vegetables and chunks of ham, but as she did so a swirl of something black came to the surface, little flecks that could be ground pepper. Cautiously, she looked over at her father, slurping up a spoonful of soup with his usual enthusiasm, broth dripping from his beard.

“Mmmm….real good Marguerite,” he said, scooping up another spoonful.

Lucas was staring into his bowl suspiciously, poking floating lumps with the tip of his spoon, his expression glassy.

“Eat up now, son,” urged Jack. “This here's good stuff!”

Eveline wasn't eating. She was staring at Lucas with an intensity that seemed to be making him uncomfortable, and under her watchful eye he took a hesitant sip from the edge of his spoon. He grimaced, but took another. Eveline smiled.

Zoe did her best to pretend to eat. There was no way she was sticking that crap in her mouth. Something had gone wrong with it overnight, and the smell and texture of it was making her feel queasy.

The meal progressed, her parents eating with gusto, Lucas swallowing his with reluctance, Mia barely touching hers. Eveline picked at her soup, fishing out morsels of ham, pushing the vegetables to one side.

Jack tipped his bowl up to his mouth, draining the last dregs. There was an oily sheen coating the inside of the bowl that had a faint greyish tinge to it.

Lucas was staring at his own empty bowl as if wondering what the fuck he'd just done. A fine layer of sweat stood out on his face, and he rubbed at his temple as though he had a headache.

Eveline swung her feet, kicking a table leg.

“I wanna go for a walk. Lucas, will you take me?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure….” he said faintly, pushing back his chair.

Marguerite began to clear the table, Zoe springing into action to help in case she was invited on the walk, too. She felt a little guilty leaving her brother to entertain the creepy child, but she'd never known him to be so agreeable. Maybe he didn't mind…?

Lucas swayed as Eveline took his hand. It looked like she was steering him as they walked out of the door.

Zoe wanted to ask Mia about her relationship with Eveline, but the woman excused herself to go upstairs.

In the kitchen, Marguerite washed while Zoe dried.

“Momma, do you think there's something weird about those two?”

“Sorry, cher, you'll have to speak up. I got this dreadful ringin’ in my ears - just won't let up.”

Zoe repeated her question.

“Well, I guess…..” pondered Marguerite. “But I just can't put my finger on what it is. I been feelin’ a little strange ever since they arrived.”

“They ain't right,” said Zoe. “Especially that girl. She turned up in the bathroom while I was takin’ a bath, and I coulda sworn I locked the door.”

“Maybe you just forgot, dear,” suggested Marguerite reasonably.

Zoe looked out of the window. Lucas was on his knees by the bushes, clutching his stomach.

“Oh, shit!”

Zoe hurried outside. 

 

Lucas groaned. His face was paler than ever and twisted in pain.

“Lucas, are you ok?”

“I don't feel so good, Zoe…..” he moaned, doubling over.

Eveline stood watching, her face full of bright curiosity.

“Eveline, go inside honey,” said Zoe, attempting to wave her away, but the child wouldn't budge.

“Are you gonna puke, Lucas?” she asked, plainly fascinated.

Lucas gave a choking belch in reply before retching and spilling his supper over the grass. Zoe leaped back to avoid getting splashed, clamping her hand over her own mouth. She hated vomit, and the smell usually made her heave too.

Eveline moved forward, rubbing her brother's back between his shoulder blades.

“Aw, poor Lucas,” she giggled, her tone full of mock sympathy.

For a split second, Zoe wanted to knock the little bitch over.

Lucas staggered to his feet, wiping his mouth.

“Need to lie down…..” he muttered.

“You can use my bed, Lucas,” said Eveline, making Zoe’s fists clench.

Lucas stumbled away.

“Let's go back inside, Eveline,” suggested Zoe.

Eveline grasped her hand, uninvited, and Zoe shuddered at her touch. The child's skin was cold and unpleasant against her own.

“Do  _ you _ feel ok, Zoe?” she asked, looking at her keenly.

“I feel fine, sweetie,” she replied, uncomfortable under her gaze.

“That's good. Some people take to it better,” said Eveline.

Zoe wanted to ask what “it” was, but she was afraid of the answer.

 

Zoe went to check on Lucas. He was curled up in a fetal position on his old bed. The sheets were still stained with the oily stuff that had rubbed off of Eveline, and she didn't like seeing him touching it.

“Lucas!”

She shook him, but he just whimpered in his sleep, hunching himself into a tighter coil. His hands were still pressed against his belly.

Zoe felt his forehead with the back of her hand the way she'd always seen her mother do. He was burning up, his skin greasy with sweat.

“Lucas, c’mon, at least let me put some clean sheets on the bed if you're gonna sleep here,” she pleaded. Some of the stuff had transferred onto his cheek, looking like a soot smudge.

He muttered something unintelligible and turned his face away.

Unsure what to do, she sat cross-legged on the floor next to the small bed. She wanted to fetch her mother, but Marguerite didn't seem like she'd be able to deal with this right now.

Downstairs, she heard her parents locking up for the night, climbing the stairs to their room. They were unusually quiet, not talking like they normally did.

Zoe had never felt so alone.

She leaned her head against the wooden shelves by the bed. She must have dozed off, because when she looked again, Lucas was awake and staring at her with bloodshot eyes.

“I had a dream,” he said hoarsely. “That my pillow was talkin’ to me.”

Zoe glanced under his head.

“You ain't got a pillow.”

He frowned.

“Oh.”

“What did it say?”

Lucas pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“I can't tell you that. She'd be mad.”

“‘She’ the pillow, or ‘she’ someone else?”

He put his finger to his lips.

“Don't say her name,” he whispered. “It calls her.”

Zoe leaned over and touched his head again. He was even hotter than before.

“Lucas, I think you're delirious. I'm gonna get you some aspirin an’ a glass o’ water.”

“Thanks, Zoe,” he said meekly, laying his head back down.

 

The water had threads of something black swirling through it. Zoe held it up to the light. What the fuck? She could only conclude that something had gotten into the water supply during the storm. She rinsed the glass out and tried again, studying it minutely before being satisfied it was ok. Maybe when they took Eveline and Mia into town they could pick up some bottled water in case it was a recurring problem.

She found some aspirin and went back upstairs. Lucas was out of bed, standing in the middle of the room, swaying back and forth like a tree in the wind. Eveline stood in front of him, holding both his hands, staring up at him silently.

“Speak up, Eveline. I can't hear you!” complained Lucas.

He cocked his head to the side.

“Uh-uh, can't make it out….what? What are you sayin’?”

He seemed frustrated. Zoe stepped forward.

“Lucas, she ain't sayin’ anythin’.....Eveline, Lucas ain't well, he shouldn't be outta bed.”

Gently but firmly she ushered the child out of the way and guided Lucas back to bed, pressing down on his shoulder to get him to sit. He submitted obediently, looking ridiculous perched on the edge of that little bed with his knees nearly up under his chin.

Zoe handed him the aspirin, and he held them in his palm, staring at them in confusion.

“Swallow them, Lucas,” she told him.

Lucas looked at Eveline as if asking for permission, and the child granted it with an almost imperceptible nod of her head. He tossed them into his mouth, accepting the glass of water from Zoe to wash them down. Eveline walked up to him, extending her hand, and Lucas cringed away, but all she did was pat his cheek affectionately.

“Good brother!” she told him, and he smiled faintly.

Eveline looked up at Zoe.

“You can go now, Zoe. I'll look after him,” she said.

“I was gonna stay……”

“There's no need. You have to get some rest too.”

Zoe didn't want to get stuck in a stare down with a kid. Everything about the situation was so wrong that she felt bad leaving her brother at the mercy of this tiny weirdo, but there was some aura coming off her that told Zoe arguing was futile.

Not fully understanding her feelings, Zoe backed out of the room, watching Lucas resume his curled up position on the bed. As she closed the door, she saw Eveline spreading a ragged blanket over him.

 

Marguerite stood outside her bedroom, looking like a phantom in her long white nightgown. Jack’s robust snores drifted through the door.

“Momma? What's wrong?”

“I can't sleep, cher. Every time I lie down, my head feels funny…..”

She tilted her head to the side, putting the palm of her hand against her ear.

“Do you want me to get you anything?”

“I don't know…..”

Her mother looked distressed. She put her finger in her ear and wiggled it.

“Momma, Lucas ain't well, either,” Zoe told her.

“That's nice, honey,” said Marguerite absently, and wandered off.

What the fuck was going on in this house?

Zoe went to bed even though she didn't want to. She hoped a decent night's sleep would sort her out.

 

_ October 12 _

 

Zoe woke the next morning to the smell of bacon drifting up the stairs. She wondered if her mother had managed to get some sleep.

The day was bright, sunlight creeping through the gap in her curtains and laying a stripe across the foot of her bed.

_ Good _ , she thought. The brighter the sun, the faster the roads would dry up, and the faster the roads dried, the sooner they'd be able to get rid of their strange guests.

Somewhat cheered, Zoe got out of bed and pulled on her jeans. She was hungry, having eaten very little the day before, and even her mother's stodgy breakfasts seemed good to her right now.

As she passed the old bedroom, she glanced in. Lucas’s old bed was empty, the tattered blanket tangled up on the stained mattress. Hopefully, this meant he was feeling better.

Downstairs, Marguerite bustled around in the kitchen, stacking a steaming pile of bacon on a plate. Jack was reading a newspaper at the table, and she realised it was the same one from a few days ago, before the storm had started. Habits died hard, she figured, and it made sense that he'd reread an old one with no new ones to entertain him.

Lucas sat beside their father, fiddling with his phone. She slid into the chair next to him.

“Mornin’. You feelin’ better now, Lucas?” she asked.

He didn't even look up.

“Uh-huh,” he replied.

Typical. No: “Thanks for lookin’ out for me, Zoe” or “Thank you for takin’ care o’ me last night.” Just this two syllable response.

Shaking her head at his ingratitude, Zoe picked up her mug. She took her coffee black, so didn't notice anything wrong with it until she'd taken a healthy sip.

“Urgh!”

She had swallowed before the flavour registered, and the thick, chemical aftertaste lingered on her tongue.

“Momma, is this different coffee than before?”

“No, cher. It's the same one.”

Zoe sniffed it cautiously. It smelled like coffee, but with a murky undertone.

“I think there's somethin’ wrong with the water supply,” she told her parents. “I noticed it last night. There was somethin’ black in it. Do you think swamp water coulda got into the pipes durin’ the flood?”

“It's possible,” said Jack, raising his own mug undeterred. “I'll check it out later.”

“Should you be drinkin’ it, Daddy? If it's contaminated?”

“The water’s been boiled. I expect it's gotten anythin’ bad outta it. Hey, Zoe, you know your mother can make holy water? She puts in it a pot an’ - “

“- boils the hell outta it,” finished Zoe and Lucas in unison.

“Aw, have I told that one before?”

Jack looked disappointed.

“Only about 237 times,” said Lucas.”That there made it 238.”

“Hmph. I'm gonna have to get some new material,” said Jack, shaking out his paper.

“Please, do,” muttered Lucas, rolling his eyes.

Zoe looked out of the window. Mia was outside with Eveline, watching as the little girl chased some flying bug across the yard. It felt better in the house with those two outside.

“Bacon’s ready,” announced Marguerite, placing the plate on the table, and Jack put down his paper to dig in.

He glanced at his wife.

“Are you ok, honey? You look all tuckered out!”

“I didn't get much sleep last night,” confessed Marguerite. “And I've had this ringing in my ears since yesterday!”

“Maybe you should go and have a lie down,” suggested Jack, looking concerned.

“Oh, no! I have far too much to do!”

Zoe sighed at her mother's stubbornness.  The woman would work herself into the ground before admitting weakness. She'd try and convince her to rest later.

Picking up her fork, Zoe slid a few slices of bacon onto her plate. It was the kind her father preferred, marbled with fat and saturated with grease, but she was so hungry right then she didn't care. She speared it on her fork and took a bite.

It tasted….ok. Not great, but not terrible. She chewed, the gritty texture unfamiliar to her, examining the piece on her fork fastidiously. It looked fine, but if it hadn't gone off already then it wasn't far from it. She took another bite. Next to her, Lucas picked up a slice in his fingers and gnawed away unconcerned.

“How’re the roads lookin’?” she asked.

“I'm gonna check ‘em out later,” said Jack. “We need some stuff from town.”

He looked pointedly at Lucas, who continued to eat unawares.

Of course. It was Lucas’s birthday next week. He always tried to pretend he didn't care, but Zoe knew he secretly loved birthdays.

“I'll come with you,” she offered. “I'm gettin’ cabin fever.”

In the kitchen, Marguerite was talking.

“Why, of course, honey. Tomorrow morning, I'll make pancakes.”

Zoe leaned over and nudged her father.

“Daddy? Who's she talkin’ to?”

“Huh?” Jack frowned, his bacon halfway to his mouth.

“Listen!”

“There might be some toys in the old house you can have,” Marguerite was saying. “Zoe had some baby dolls she used to play with. Uh-Huh. Ok, dear.”

“Marguerite? Who are you talkin’ to, honey?” called Jack.

Marguerite turned around.

“Well, Eveline of course!” she laughed. “She's right - Oh! Where has that child gone?”

“She's outside, Momma,” said Zoe carefully.

“Well, she can sure move fast, I'll give her that!”

Zoe and Jack looked at each other.

“I think I'd better take her back to the doctor,” said Jack quietly.

 

The main road was still flooded.

Jack regarded the muddy water with grim acceptance, turning the car around wordlessly, but Zoe’s despair went deeper. She wanted Eveline gone. She didn't like her and, though she felt silly admitting it even to herself, the child scared her. She was like a little kid in a horror movie with her sing-song voice and staring eyes. If Zoe ever came downstairs and found the little girl stood facing a corner, she was getting the fuck out of the house, without a doubt.

“I was hopin’ we'd be able to get Eveline and Mia into town today,” she said.

“Really?” said Jack. “I'm enjoying havin’ them around, myself. It's nice to have a child in the house again. Reminds me of you when you were little.”

Zoe sank into her seat, not wanting to answer that. She was sure she'd never been that creepy.

 

Back at the house, Lucas was out in the yard, sat on the grass with his legs stretched out, propping himself up with his hands behind him. Eveline was sat on his lap, busily making a crown out of flowers. Zoe had to stifle a snigger when she saw that the devil-child had already adorned him with a chain of blooms around his neck.

Lucas seemed to be staring at the sky.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” she asked.

“Fuckin’ helicopter,” he said. “Circled the house about three times now.”

“Maybe they're lookin’ for the ship,” suggested Zoe.

Mia was sitting on the trailer steps, and Zoe didn't miss the desperate glance the woman gave her.

“Maybe. Wish they'd fuck off, though. Like a giant gnat buzzin’ around.”

“Lucas….maybe watch your language, “ said Zoe, nodding towards the child on his lap.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry Evie.” He looked abashed - an expression Zoe thought she'd never see on her brother. It suited him about as well as the flower necklace.

“That's ok, Lucas,” said Eveline. “I understand. You're an adult, so you use adult words. I've heard a lot of them. Once, I heard - “

She leaned forward and whispered something into Lucas’s ear. His eyes widened.

“Where'd ya hear that?” he asked.

“A man called me it,” she said.

“Really? Well, that, uh, that ain't nice.”

“Oh, he's dead now anyway. Here, I finished your crown!”

Eveline reached up and arranged the braided flowers on Lucas's head. He looked like the embodiment of a Snapchat filter. Zoe would have giggled if it weren't for the bombshell Eveline had just dropped.

“Wait, the man's dead?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. Everybody who was on the ship is dead. You look very pretty, Lucas.”

“Everyone?” said Zoe. “What happened?”

“I  _ don't  _ want to talk about it any more,” said the girl, with a hint of menace.

Then she smiled.

“I'm going to make you a crown now, Zoe!”

 

Marguerite was scrubbing the inside of the fridge.

“Momma, you should be restin’!” protested Zoe.

“Well, I was going to, but I looked in here an’ found a whole lot o’ mold growin’ inside! Must be because o’ the damp weather, I guess, but it sure spread fast!”

Zoe wanted to tell her about the mold in the bathroom, but she knew her mother would insist on cleaning that too.

She wandered into the living room where Jack was watching tv, Eveline firmly ensconced on his knee. Even though Zoe was 21, she felt a spike of jealousy go through her, a little voice inside her possessively muttering  _ My daddy! _

“What are you two watchin’?” she asked as pleasantly as she could.

“It's a documentary….?” said Jack, sounding uncertain.

Zoe glanced at the screen. There was some kind of war movie on, bombs dropping, guns firing. As she watched, a helicopter went down in flames, men screaming inside.

Jack laughed - a deep, hearty belly laugh, as though it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen.

“Did ya see that, Eveline? Reminds me of my days in the Marines….They were good times.”

“Daddy, do you think you should change the channel? I'm not sure Eveline should be watchin’ this kind o’ thing,” said Zoe.

“I like it,” said Eveline.

“But Eveline - “ began Zoe.

“Zoe, don't argue with your sister!” snapped Jack.

Speechless, Zoe backed out of the room.

What the fuck was going on with her family?

 

She cornered her brother in the garage. He'd lowered his old dirt bike down from the ceiling and was tinkering with it. He hadn't ridden it for a long time, as he couldn't get the parts to fix it, but when it had been working he used to take Zoe for rides on the back of it, tearing round the swamp, spraying dust behind them. It had been wild and Zoe had loved it, even when they'd taken a spill into the water and had to trudge back home shamefaced and covered in duckweed. Jack had given Lucas hell for that.

“You fixin’ that thing? I thought you couldn't get the parts?”

“I thought maybe I could improvise. Eveline wanted me to take her for a spin.”

“Eveline this, Eveline that! This whole fuckin’ family has gone crazy for that little girl! I can't stand it! She's makin’ you play cards with her, coverin’ you with flowers, an’ now this! What's next, Lucas? Tea parties? Playin’ dress up with her?”

Lucas looked at her wretchedly.

“She scares me, Zoe,” he admitted. “I'm scared to say no to her in case she does somethin’.....”

“Like what? She's a little kid! What's she gonna do?”

Lucas lowered the wrench he was holding, looked around.

“I remember,” he whispered. “The other night. What happened. It weren't a dream, Zoe. It was  _ real _ …..”

“What?”

Zoe heard a rushing noise in her ears, her legs suddenly feeling like jello underneath her.

“When the old man dragged me into that room, I was - “

There was a noise on the stairs leading up to the house. Lucas hurriedly raised his wrench again and buried it in the guts of the bike, making a big show of being busy.

Eveline stood in the garage doorway, looking at them suspiciously.

“Marguerite said supper is ready,” she reported, her eyes flicking from Zoe to Lucas and back again.

“That's great!” said Lucas with too much enthusiasm. “Thanks, Eveline! We'll be right up!”

“You have to come now…….”

Lucas put down his wrench. Zoe could see his hand shaking, but a shit-eating grin stretched his mouth unnaturally.

“Ok!”

He brushed past Zoe without looking at her and allowed Eveline to take his hand.

 

Zoe didn't want to say anything about the quality of the food as her mother looked so exhausted, but supper was practically inedible.

The fridge had been all but empty when Zoe had looked earlier, so Marguerite must have thawed something out from the freezer, but what it actually Zoe wasn't sure.

She looked around the table at her gathered family and the two interlopers. Her father was devouring the sludge of unnamed meat with his usual gusto.

“What's the matter, cher? Aren't you hungry?” asked her mother, scooping up a forkful of the mess and taking a demure bite.

“I ain't feelin’ well, Momma. Must be what Lucas had yesterday. May I be excused?”

Eveline was squinting at her, nestled between her parents, her untouched plate in front of her. The way she stared was making Zoe feel uncomfortable and she fled before permission was given.

 

Zoe could hear retching. She'd tried to sleep, but hunger gnawed at her belly and she'd been debating whether to risk going downstairs to raid the pantry when she heard hurried footsteps headed for the bathroom.

She got out of bed, padding barefoot across the floor and listening at her door.

_ “What songs do you like, cher? Will you sing one for me? Oh, yes, I know that one! Let's sing together…...Go tell Aunt Rhody, go tell Aunt Rho-o-dy…..” _

Looking through the keyhole, Zoe saw her mother walking past her door, her feet dragging, her nightgown swishing. She was alone. Zoe waited until Marguerite had passed, then slipped out.

Muffled groans were coming from the bathroom now. The door was ajar, dim light creating a long triangle on the floor. Pushing it open, Zoe saw Lucas sat by the toilet, his knees drawn up to his chest, his head tipped back against the wall. As she watched his face twisted into a grimace and he folded over, forehead touching his legs, his shoulders pulled up high.

“Lucas?”

“Oh, shiiit. It hurts, Zoe,” he moaned. “Feels like somethin’s clawin’ its way out.”

She rushed over, kneeling next to him.

“Is it your stomach?” she asked.

“It's everythin’.... but my stomach’s the worst…..ooowwwww…….”

He let out a strangled sob, tilting sideways to lean against her.

“Make it stop, I can't stand it!”

Unsure what to do, Zoe put an arm round his narrow shoulders. Her brother was trembling, his whole body a taut wire that had been plucked. She didn't feel adult enough to deal with this.

“I'll go get Momma,” she said uncertainly, but Lucas grabbed at her, snatching a handful of her t-shirt.

“Don't leave me! She ain't no good anyways…. Ohhhh…..”

With a sudden convulsion, Lucas lurched away from her, leaning over the toilet. Zoe put a hand on his back, feeling it heave.

He whimpered as he vomited, an enormous amount of a black, tarry substance splattering the inside of the bowl. He took a deep, laboured breath, then hiccupped and puked again, even more of the stuff spraying out of him before tapering off to a thin drool. It smelled like rot and blood.

Zoe’s eyes watered, her own empty stomach lurching in sympathy.

“Fuck, Lucas!”

He hawked and spat, falling back against the wall again. His face was white, tears running from his eyes, but he was grinning, that black stuff lining his gums and coating his teeth.

“It's a good kinda pain, Zoe,” he said, and giggled. “Cleansin’. What don't kill me makes me stronger, an’ I'm gonna be a big strong boy by the end o’ this.”

“What? Lucas, you're delirious again!”

She put out a hand to touch his forehead, but he snapped his teeth at her like a dog, barely missing her fingers.

“Lucas!”

He laughed again, the sound too high pitched, and started to sing. He had a godawful singing voice at the best of times, but now it was made all the worse by the mucus clogging his throat.

“ _ I'm goin’ through changes ….. _ Sing along, Zoe!”

Zoe recognised the song from her father's old Black Sabbath album, but Lucas’s distorted version made her cringe and it was far too loud.

“Lucas, shhh! You'll wake everyone!”

He cackled.

“Aw, c’mon, Zoe! Lighten the fuck up! Oh, fuck……”

His face tightened and he leaned over and puked again, the gargling sound he made driving Zoe back away from him. He leaned his face against the toilet seat, coughing.

“Least….least it don't hurt no more…... _ I'm goin’ through changes…… _ ”

His voice was a whisper now, and he looked like he was going to fall asleep there. Zoe didn't want to touch him, but she couldn't let him sleep on the bathroom floor.

Steeling herself, she nudged him.

“Lucas? You done now? C’mon, get up….”

She flushed the toilet, trying not to look as the vomit swirled away.

“Lucas…..”

“Kay….g’dammit….gettin’ up now….”

He staggered to his feet, Zoe gingerly steering him towards the sink.

Laboriously, Lucas splashed water over his face, rinsing his mouth and spitting. He was unsteady on his feet, so Zoe grabbed the towel and attempted to dry his face for him as he tried to bat her hand away fussily.

“G’toff me…..”

Marguerite drifted past the doorway without looking in. She was still singing to herself.

Zoe burst into tears.

“Heyyyy…….hey Zoe….wassa matter?” Lucas attempted to pat her on the shoulder and missed.

“Don't - don't be like that. M’okay. Gonna be fiiine.”

“Everythin’s goin’ to shit an’ I don't know what to do!” wailed Zoe. “You're sick, Daddy keeps actin’ weird, an’ Momma’s sick  _ an’ _ acting weird. It all started when that little bi - “

Lucas’s hand moved with the speed of a striking snake, shooting out and clamping over her mouth. It was still wet, and water dribbled down her chin as she looked at him, perplexed. His eyes were wide and frightened.

“ _ Don't say that!”  _ he said in an urgent whisper. “ _ She'll fuckin’ hear ya!” _

He looked over his shoulder furtively.

Tears ran down her face onto his hand, along with some snot, and his face softened. He wiped his fingers on his hoodie. Even though he still looked feverish, his eyes were clearer and less muddled. 

“We gotta be careful, Zoe,” he said in a low voice. “You been lookin’ out for me, I ‘ppreciate that, an’ I'm sorry I been so fucked up….it comes ‘n’ goes…..I can't help it. But I'm gonna try harder. We gotta look after each other.”

He rubbed her arm awkwardly - the closest thing to a hug she'd get from him - and she managed a weak smile for his benefit.

“Try ‘n’ get some sleep,” he ordered. “Imma stay awake tonight. Keep watch or somethin’. Don't worry ‘bout me.”

“Ok, Lucas, but if you get sick again, let me know. You don't have to go through it by yourself.”

She left him in the bathroom, peering at himself in the mirror, turning his head from side to side.

 

_ October 13 _

 

Zoe heard a commotion downstairs.

It was morning, and the sun was brighter than ever. She'd slept fully dressed in case Lucas needed her, so she was able to just roll off her bed and rush downstairs.

Marguerite was sat at the table in the dining room, her elbows propped on the tabletop, her head in her hands. Jack was pocketing his car keys. He looked up when Zoe came in.

“Roads are clear. I'm gonna take your mother to the doctor. She, uh, ain't right…..”

“I'm fine, Jack! Stop yer fussin’, asshole!”

Zoe gasped in shock. Her mother never used language like that, and her voice had a hard edge to it Zoe didn't think she'd ever heard before.

Lucas hovered in the kitchen doorway. He looked the same way Zoe felt, his mouth hanging open.

Jack’s shoulders sagged.

“C’mon now, sweetheart. Let's at least get you checked out.”

“I've got too much fuckin’ work to do! I gotta clean up all this goddam mold and make the motherfuckin’ breakfast!” retorted her mother.

“Momma,” said Lucas plaintively. “Me an’ Zoe can make the motherfuckin’ breakfast……”

Jack shot him a sharp look, but it was plain that Lucas was too distressed to be aware of what he'd said.

Marguerite raised her head, her hand going to her mouth.

“Oh! Oh my goodness! Jack….I didn't mean…..”

Her face crumpled, her shoulders shaking as she began to weep.

“It's ok, honey,” said Jack soothingly. “I know. Come on, let's get going.”

Marguerite got to her feet, her face a picture of distress.

“It's alright, Momma, we'll take care o’ everything,” said Zoe, hugging her mother.

“Thank you, cher. Lucas? Where's my baby boy?” 

She swayed on her feet, and Lucas detached himself from the doorway.

“Here, Momma!”

Marguerite tried to smile through her tears.

“Look after your sister, Mia and Eveline, Lucas. You're the man o’ the house while we're gone, you hear?”

“Uh-huh,” said Lucas seriously. “Don't you worry.”

Marguerite folded him into her arms, and after only the slightest resistance he submitted to her hug, squeezing her back with his head on her shoulder.

Jack took her arm.

“I'll keep you updated,” he told them, and led her from the room.

Zoe and Lucas watched them go miserably.

“What d’you think it is?” said Zoe, wringing her hands. “Oh, shit, Lucas - do you think it's a brain tumour? I heard they can make people act like that….”

“I dunno,” admitted Lucas. “It could be.”

“Or maybe it's whatever’s in the water! You been ill too. Maybe you both got poisoned!”

Lucas looked uncomfortable.

“Jesus fuck, Zoe! Way to make me feel better.”

A little voice came from the doorway.

“Where's Jack and Marguerite?”

They both spun round. Eveline stood there, Mia just behind her. Lucas carefully rearranged his face.

“They both had to go into town, Eveline.”

“Why did they have to go?”

“They had to go to the store. But don't worry, they'll be back soon!”

Lucas wasn't going to win an Oscar anytime soon, but he must have convinced Eveline, as she shrugged her shoulders.

“I'm not worried. Marguerite said I can have pancakes for breakfast. Are you going to make pancakes?”

Lucas floundered, looking at Zoe.

“Well, I can't promise, but I'll see what I can do,” said Zoe with a cheeriness she didn't feel.

 

Zoe found a packet of dry pancake mix in the pantry, and set about whisking it up while she heated the skillet. They were running low on milk, eggs and other perishables, but with Momma so sick she couldn't hope that Daddy would think to pick up groceries in town.

Eveline stood watching as she worked, her nose only inches away from the stove.

“Evie, sweetie, maybe you should step back a lil bit? You might get burned,” suggested Zoe.

“It won't hurt me,” said Eveline.

“Burns hurt, honey. Now step back,” Zoe insisted.

Eveline shot her a filthy look, but grudgingly took a minute step backwards. From the dining room, Mia was watching nervously.

_ Why doesn't she fucking control her daughter? _ Thought Zoe grimly as she threw a lump of butter in the skillet.  _ Why do I have to do her fucking job? _

The butter spat as it melted, tiny pinpricks burning the back of Zoe’s hand. She winced.

“Burns don't hurt  _ me _ ,” commented Eveline.

“Burns hurt everyone,” said Zoe firmly. “Now move!”

Eveline scowled.

“I'll show you,” she said, and before Zoe could stop her, stuck her hand in the pan.

“ _ Eveline!” _

There was a sizzling sound, and the kitchen filled with the sickening, sweet reek of cooking flesh. It smelled like charred pork. 

Shrieking, Zoe grabbed the child's wrist, pulling her away. The palm of her hand was shiny red, large blisters already forming.

“Mia, will you get over here and tend to your daughter?” yelled Zoe, furious with the woman, but Mia shrank into her seat, regarding the scene wide-eyed.

Lucas appeared at Evie’s side, grabbing her under the arms and lifting her, carrying her over to the sink.

“Put the cold water on!” he told Zoe.

“It's ok,” said Eveline. “It doesn't hurt. Watch.”

She held up her hand as if in greeting, and as they both looked, the weeping blisters began to shrink, the reddened skin getting paler and losing the shiny texture. Within a matter of minutes, it was as though the injury had never happened.

“Jesus H Motherfuckin’ Christ,” said Lucas reverently. “How in shit did ya do that?”

Eveline turned to Mia.

“Why don't you tell them, Mommy?”

She smirked.


	8. Infestation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eveline’s influence on the family becomes stronger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More vomit. Some violence. Family discord. You know the kind of stuff.

Jack called from a payphone in town. He'd resisted modern technology to the extent that he refused to get a cellphone, and as a result the conversation was dominated by the noise of passersby.

“Your mother's been referred to the hospital,” he reported, his voice weary and strained. “We're  here now. They're runnin’ some tests on her - head scans an’ stuff. They don't know what's wrong, but they're worried……”

Zoe’s hand tightened on the receiver. Lucas was leaning against the wall in the hall, watching and listening for clues. She didn't know what to say in reply to her father, and her floundering alerted her brother to her distress. He straightened and drew in closer, tilting his head to the ear piece.

Jack sighed, a long drawn out gust.

“Don't know how long we're gonna be here, so you best just go on ahead with supper. We'll grab a bite to eat here. Anyways, how are things there? The little one ok?”

Zoe and Lucas exchanged glances.

“Yeah, she's fine, Daddy. Don't worry about us, you just look after Momma.”

“Okay, Punkin. I'd better go now, they're askin’ for me. Say ‘Hi’ to Eveline for me. Love you.”

“I love you too, Daddy.”

Zoe hung up.

“We gotta get those two outta the house, somehow….” she whispered to Lucas. “It's gotta be…. _ her _ …..causin’ all this.”

“An’ how do you reckon on doin’ that, huh? Just say: ‘Excuse me folks, but we'd like you to get the fuck off our property. Bye now, don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out!’. Cuz I don't see that workin’, somehow.”

They stood awkwardly in the hallway, unwilling to go back into the living room where the other two were.

Mia had explained - kind of - about Eveline, but Zoe had a feeling she'd left a lot out. It had been a garbled explanation with a lot of technical terms even Lucas, with his big old brain, hadn't understood, and they were none the wiser after Mia’s disclosure than they'd been before. All they knew was that Eveline was dangerous. 

During the talk, Eveline had played quietly with an old stuffed bear that had belonged to Zoe a long time ago, apparently not listening, but Zoe was prepared to bet she'd supervised every word.

“We just gotta be smart,” decided Lucas. “Watch what we eat. Clean up the mold. Don't piss her off. We'll figure somethin’ out.”

He sounded a lot more confident than she felt.

 

They went back into the other room. Mia looked up as they entered.

“Dare I ask how she is?” she asked.

“You can dare, but you gotta lotta nerve,” said Lucas grimly.

“They're doin’ x-rays…..on her head,” interjected Zoe, trying to keep the peace with Eveline in the room.

Mia shook her head.

“I'm so sorry….but you'd better be prepared for the worst…..” she said quietly.

“What will they find? A brain tumour?” Lucas demanded. “Is that what's happened? Have you given our mother fucking cancer somehow?”

“No,” said Mia. “She won't die! But…..”

“We're becoming a family,” said Eveline.

She sat on the floor in front of the tv, the bear on her lap. She was smiling her terrible smile, the one that looked so innocent but hid so much.

“We already got a family,” snarled Lucas. “Might not be much o’ one, but it's ours. We don't need you to be a part of it!”

Zoe put a hand on his arm. It appeared he'd completely forgotten his own advice about not pissing her off. He shook her hand off.

“Why? Why us?” he demanded.

“Because I can,” said Eveline simply.

“Now listen here…..” said Lucas, stalking over to her. “You're makin’ us ill, do you understand that? I spent most o’ the night pukin’, my momma might have somethin’ growin’ in her head…..Don't you understand what you're doin’ to us, you little shit?”

“I'm making you  _ better _ ,” said Eveline, glaring at him. “And you'd better not talk to me like that,  _ brother _ .”

“Why not? What are you gonna fuckin’ do about it? I ain't never slapped a little kid before, but that don't mean I won't!”

“ _ Lucas!” _ screamed Zoe.

He turned, but too late.

Mia had launched herself at him, her hands bent into claws. Her face was twisted and distorted to the point that she was almost unrecognisable, her black-lipped mouth open to reveal snarling teeth. She emitted a growling shriek as she bowled Lucas over, the pair of them falling to the floor. Mia’s fingers groped for his eyes, Lucas grabbing her wrists to hold them away.

“Fuck off!” yelled Lucas, his voice high and panicked.

Mia straddled him, pushing her hands downwards as Lucas struggled to push them away. She snapped her teeth together, laughing.

“Holy fuck, how are you so strong! Zoe, help!”

Lucas writhed, trapped beneath her, her curled fingertips getting closer and closer to his eye sockets. Zoe jumped on Mia’s back, looping her arm around the woman's throat and tightening it.

Mia reared up, Lucas forgotten for a moment, grabbing Zoe’s arm with both hands. Zoe felt a tug, and suddenly she was flying towards the wall as Mia hurled her off. Zoe hit the wall with a sickening crash, her breath knocked from her lungs.

“No! Eveline! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!” Lucas was shouting, followed by a scream Zoe didn't believe her brother capable of.

Woozily, Zoe propped herself up on her elbow. Mia had managed to get one hand to Lucas’s face, and was doing her level best to gouge out one on his eyes. The woman's nails were bitten down to nothing, so she was using leverage. Blood, thick and dark, ran from her brother's eye.

“Eveline, please!” sobbed Zoe.

“Stop.”

The child's voice was quiet, but at the word Mia fell off Lucas. Her face looked normal again, and she was crying.

Lucas lay on the floor, his hand over his face.

Eveline stood, clutching her bear.

“I'm hungry,” she said. “What's for dinner?”

 

Zoe stood on shaking legs as she cooked, her entire left side aching where she'd hit the wall. She could barely see the pan in front of her as she stirred the mess of beans and hotdogs she'd found in the pantry. 

Lucas sat at the table, a wet cloth clamped over half his face. Zoe had briefly seen the mess Mia had made of him - the white of his eye a dark red colour, filled with blood, the lid swollen. He was playing snakes and ladders one handed, his demeanour submissive and subdued.

“My turn!” Eveline said, snatching up the dice and the cup.

Mia was participating in the game, her head bowed, shooting Lucas an occasional, guilty look.

Zoe understood, on some level, that Mia hadn't been in control of herself during the attack, but it didn't stop Zoe from hating her.

It was getting dark outside, and there had been no more news from their father. Mia’s assertion that their mother wouldn't die had only been partially reassuring, as Zoe was beginning to understand that there could be things worse than death.

The contents of the pan began to steam, and Zoe turned off the heat. She had to get plates out, but her left arm felt weak.

“Eveline,” she said meekly. “Can I borrow Lucas for a moment? I need his help with dinner.”

“Ok, sister. I'm winning anyway!” said Eveline happily.

Lucas slouched into the kitchen, lowering the rag from his eye. There was a lurid bruise forming around his eye socket.

“I need some plates,” Zoe told him.

“I need a new fuckin’ eye,” grumbled Lucas, but he set a stack next to her. “You ok?”

“Me? What about you?”

“I'm seein’ red - literally  _ an’ _ figuratively.” He lowered his voice. “I'm gonna wait till she's asleep.”

“An’ do what?” whispered Zoe.

“You'll see. Just be ready. Gonna need your help…..”

Before she could plead for him not to do anything stupid, he'd returned to the table and the game.

 

Supper was a quiet affair. The canned food was untainted, and even though she had no appetite Zoe forced herself to eat every scrap. She needed her strength, and didn't know what the fare would be like in the coming days.

Eveline picked fussily through her food, nibbling chunks of hotdog, sipping at the last of the milk. Lucas stared at her as though he were incapable of stopping, his bad eye squeezed nearly shut, weeping red tinged tears.

“So it's the mold that makes you heal up so fast?” he asked finally.

Eveline nodded.

“Does your eye hurt, Lucas?”

Lucas snorted.

“What do you think? Course it fuckin’ hurts, Eveline - we feel pain!”

Eveline pushed her plate away and stood up.

“I can make the pain stop,” she said. “Do you want me to?”

Zoe went cold.

“Lucas, don't….” she said.

“It fuckin’ hurts, Zoe, an’ I can't see outta it! If she can fix it, I'm gonna let her. It's the least she can do.”

He turned to Eveline.

“Go on, then. Fix my eye that your momma busted.”

“Say please,” said Eveline, a faint smirk on her face.

Lucas swallowed.

“Please,” he said, as though it caused him a huge effort.

“Please what?”

Lucas took a deep breath, the veins standing out on his neck as he fought hard to suppress his temper. He forced the words out between gritted teeth.

“Please, Eveline, will you fix my eye?” 

Eveline laughed.

“You asked so nicely!” she said. “I'll fix your eye, Lucas, but you have to do what I tell you.”

“Ok. What do I gotta do?”

Eveline pointed off to one side at the floor by the table.

“Lie down,” she ordered.

Lucas rubbed his palms on the legs of his jeans, swallowing hard. He looked scared, but he pushed his chair away and stood.

“Don't do it, Lucas!” pleaded Zoe.

“Shut up, Zoe!” he retorted.

He lay down on the bare wooden floor, arms at his sides, peering nervously up as Eveline stood over him. She was smiling, an unbearably smug smile that made Zoe want to choke her.

Slowly, she got down on her knees by his side, leaning over him with her hands on his chest. Her eyes took on a faraway look as she concentrated.

Zoe didn't know what she'd been expecting - possibly some kind of laying-on-of-hands or some mumbo-jumbo, chanting bullshit. Instead, the child’s chest started heaving, a hollow gargling beginning deep in her throat.

“What the fuck….?” said Lucas, his good eye staring up in horror.

Eveline lurched forward, her hands darting to Lucas’s face and going into his mouth. Her right hand grabbed his bottom teeth and yanked his lower jaw down, opening him wide up, and with a stomach-churning belching sound she vomited directly into his mouth.

Zoe gagged, her beans and hotdogs threatening to come up. Eveline’s vomit was black and stringy, wet tendrils that writhed as if they were alive. There was a lot of it, far more than Zoe would have expected from a small child, and it poured out of the girl and into her brother. Lucas’s heels drummed on the floor, his fingertips trying to clutch the boards. Zoe saw his throat swell as the stuff forced it's way into him.

It felt endless, but probably took less than half a minute, and by the end of it Lucas lay still, his hands limp.

Eveline stood up, wiping her lips.

“There,” she said happily.

“What have you done to him?” said Zoe frantically.

“He's alright - watch!”

Lucas jerked, his chest undulating. His face twitched. He sat up, like Frankenstein’s monster coming to life, and looked around with a dazed expression.

The bruising around his eye was already fading, the swelling going down, and with a little effort he opened it. The deep crimson colour around his iris became scarlet, then pink, then white, as though on some sort of time-lapse movie of healing. Lucas blinked.

“I don't hurt no more….” he marvelled. “Nothin’ hurts. It's like….I had all sorts o’ aches an’ pains I never even noticed, an’ I'm only noticin’ ‘em now cuz they're gone. Zoe?”

“What, Lucas?”

“I feel fuckin’ great…..”

 

Lucas was cheerful for the rest of the evening. He kept looking in the mirror at his eye and grinning in a delighted fashion. His attitude filled Zoe with despair. She managed to get him alone.

“I suppose now she's healed you, you've changed your mind about getting rid of Eveline?” said Zoe.

“You're kiddin’, right? Now I feel better, I'm ready to deal with anythin’! That bitch is goin’ down…” he said with relish. “I ain't forgotten what she's done, Zoe. She's bad news - an’ her fuckin’ mother.”

“She doesn't seem to sleep much,” pointed out Zoe. “How are you gonna manage to get them out?”

“I only gotta wait for Mia to fall asleep. I can handle a little kid,” snorted Lucas contemptuously.

“Are you sure about that?” asked Zoe. “After what she did?”

“Trust me, Zoe - I can do this.”

The telephone rang, cutting off their discussion. Zoe leapt towards the phone.

“Daddy?”

“Hey, Punkin,” said Jack, his voice even more tired than before. “I'm afraid the hospital are keepin’ your mother in overnight. I'm gonna stay here with her. Think you can manage back there?”

“Sure, Daddy. But is Momma ok? What's happenin’?”

“They just wanna keep her in for observation. Make sure she gets some rest. She, uh, she started in with the language not long ago. Started cussin’ out the staff, gettin’ mad. They got her heavily sedated now. She's sleepin’.”

“And how do you feel, Daddy? You doin’ ok?”

“Why, I'm just fine, honey. Tired o’ course, but that's to be expected. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, you know - I'm just worried about you both. Must be stressful. You ain't been ill then? No vomiting or anythin’?”

“No…..are you sure everythin’s ok there?”

“We're fine, Daddy. Lucas has been sick, but I reckon it's just some 24 hour thing - nuthin’ for you to worry about.”

“Ok then, honey,” Jack sighed. “We'll see ya tomorrow. Good night.”

“Night, Daddy.”

She hung up and told Lucas the news.

“It's prolly just as well. Least we don't have to worry about them interferin’,” he said.

 

Mia went out into the trailer to sleep, shutting herself away. Lucas locked the back door and went upstairs. She heard him crashing about up there.

Zoe put her hands in her pockets to hide the shaking in them.

“Well, look at the time!” she said. “Reckon it's past your bedtime, Eveline.”

“I'm not tired,” said Eveline.

“You still have to go to bed,” said Zoe reasonably. “Growing girl like you needs her sleep.”

“I'm not going to bed,” said Eveline firmly. “You can't tell me what to do.”

“Well, I'm the adult here, so I can. Go to bed, Eveline.”

“No!” Eveline clenched her fists. “You're making me mad, Zoe!”

Zoe felt a weird tickling sensation between her eyes, a kind of pulling, as though there was a piece of elastic attached to the front of her brain, tugging at it. She rubbed her forehead.

“What's the matter, Zoe?” asked Eveline, a knowing smirk on her face.

“Nuthin’,” lied Zoe. The sensation continued, only this time accompanied by the sudden urge to….punch herself in the face? She shook her head. The image was there: Her doubling her hand into a fist and smacking herself squarely on the nose.

“Do it, Zoe,” urged Eveline.

“What….? How do you know….?”

Eveline looked pissed off.

“Why won't you do it?” she demanded, stamping her foot.

“Why would I?” asked Zoe. “And how do you know what I'm thinkin’? Can you read my mind?”

The horror dawned on her.

“You're readin’ my mind! Get out, Eveline!”

“You haven't got enough in you,” mused Eveline, then broke into a sudden smile. “But Lucas has!”

Lucas was still upstairs, doing what Zoe didn't know, but now she heard his footsteps making their way down. They were slow and ponderous, and held far more foreboding than footsteps should.

“What are you doing?” asked Zoe nervously.

The child just grinned.

Lucas walked into the room, something long held against his thigh. He looked confused, as if he was wondering what he was doing there.

“Hit Zoe, Lucas,” ordered Eveline.

He frowned.

“I don't wanna…..” he said.

“But you're going to anyway. Hit her.”

Slowly, he turned his head and looked at Zoe. He looked terrified now. Zoe backed away from him.

“Lucas…..don't…..” she begged.

His body turned, almost independently from his head, swivelling so he was pointed towards her, and he took an unsteady step in her direction.

“Lucas, please!”

Lucas grimaced, his body shaking as he took another step.

“Stop it, Eveline!” he begged.

Eveline laughed.

Zoe retreated to the other side of the table as Lucas’s steps gained speed. He staggered forward, his right hand raising.

Eveline jumped up and down in delight, clapping her hands.

“Hit her good, Lucas! Slap her hard!”

Lucas whimpered but kept coming. Zoe looked around wildly for escape, but Eveline had stood in her way.

“Eveline, you little bitch! Leave him alone!” said Zoe.

Her brother broke into a run and she dodged as his hand swiped at her. She didn't want to fight him, but she was running out of options. The horror of seeing him controlled like a puppet far outweighed the fear of his attack: It had been a long time since she and him had squared up for a fight, but she still knew how to hurt him if she had to. She just didn't want to.

“Catch her! Hurt her!” urged Eveline, and Lucas uttered a howl of rage and spun towards the child. His left arm lashed out, and Zoe screamed as she saw that thing he'd been holding was a crowbar, aimed at Eveline’s head.

It connected with the little girl’s skull with a sickening crunch, knocking her sideways, and as she fell to the floor Lucas’s body went limp.

“Oh shit….” he muttered. “Oh shit oh shit oh shit…….”

Zoe rushed over to where the child lay motionless, gouts of blood pouring from her head.

“Oh my god, Lucas!”

“I panicked!” he wailed. “She was in my head, I had to do somethin’! I managed to break free for a second an’..... that happened. She ok?”

Zoe went on her knees and leaned over the prostrate girl.

“She ain't breathin’, Lucas,” she stammered. “Oh fuck, she ain't breathin’!”

“OhshitIjustkilledalittlekidohfuckohno……”

Lucas dropped the bloody crowbar, putting his face in his hands.

He took several deep breaths.

“Ok. Right. We gotta….um….we gotta get rid o’ the body. Dump it in the swamp……”

Zoe looked at him in horror.

“Are you fuckin’ serious?”

“What else are we gonna do?” cried Lucas. “Anybody finds out, they'll lock me up an’ throw away the fuckin’ key!”

Zoe sat back on her heels. He was right and she hated it. Whatever Eveline was, she had endangered their entire family, and she loved her brother too much to see him go to prison for killing her.

“Ok,” she said. “I'll hel - “

Eveline moved.

Zoe screamed and threw herself backwards, scrabbling away crab-like on her hands and feet.

The child lifted her head from the floor.

In a panic, Lucas dived for the crowbar, but stopped before he could get there as though he had hit a wall.

“You've been bad, Lucas,” said Eveline. “Very, very bad. You hurt me.”

“I'm sorry, Evie,” whined Lucas. “It was an accident…..”

“Go upstairs and wait,” said Eveline. “Do it!”

His face drawn with fear, Lucas started to walk towards the door with laboured strides.

“Please, Eveline, I'm sorry,” he babbled. “I didn't mean it!”

Eveline got to her feet as Lucas went through the double doors. She glared at Zoe.

“Clean up this mess,” she said, indicating the puddle of blood on the floor, and followed Lucas.

Zoe crouched with her back against the wall, trying to absorb what had happened, and heard a door upstairs slam shut. Then the screaming began.

 

Zoe mopped up the worst of the blood with an old towel while her brother's agonised screams echoed through the house. The blood was dark and sticky, and threaded through with black. Her tears fell into it as she cleaned, trying not to get any on her hands.

Once most of it had been absorbed, she fetched a bucket, squeezing floor cleaner into it and adding hot water.

Lucas shrieked, gurgling pleas mixed up with his howls.

Zoe found the mop in the pantry and carried it along with the bucket into the dining room. As she dipped the mop head into the water, Lucas’s cries stopped. She hesitated, standing there for a long while, listening, waiting for Evie to come back down and deal with her, but after a few minutes, she heard Lucas shouting again.

“No! No, please! No!”

And then the screaming resumed, his voice breaking before gaining strength.

Zoe started to mop the floor.

 

The screaming continued way into the night. Zoe huddled on the couch, a pillow over each ear, but it wasn't enough to blot out the sounds of her brother's torture.

At some point, against all reason, she fell asleep.

 

When she woke up, Eveline was standing over her, looking down. Sun was streaming in fat rays into the living room.

Zoe recoiled, trying to shrink away from the child.

“Is there any more milk?” asked Eveline.

“N-no, it's all gone,” said Zoe, cringing.

“Oh.” Evie looked disappointed. “I wanted milk.”

“There's soda in the pantry…..” suggested Zoe, clutching her pillows to her chest.

Eveline’s eyes lit up.

“Yay, soda! Go get it, Zoe.”

Zoe struggled up off the couch, trying to avoid physical contact with the girl.

“Where's Lucas?” she asked, hesitantly.

“He's resting. He had a bad night,” said Eveline with no hint of irony.

Zoe went to the pantry and fetched Eveline her soda.

 

Lucas came downstairs after lunch. He looked haggard, but there were no signs of injury to him - but judging by the way his eye had healed the previous evening, any wounds that had been inflicted on him would have disappeared by now.

Zoe rushed over to him.

“Lucas? Are you okay?”

The gaze he turned towards her was haunted, his eyes full of torment. He shook his head.

“What did she do to you up there?”

“Didn't do nothin’. She, uh, made me do it to myself.”

“Lucas learned something.”

Eveline’s voice floated over from where she was watching cartoons.

“Didn't you, Lucas?”

“Uh-huh.” Lucas cast his eyes downwards as if he was ashamed.

“Tell Zoe what you learned.”

“Do what Eveline says,” said Lucas automatically.

Eveline turned her head, looking over the back of the couch.

“Hit Zoe,” she said.

“Lucas, don't - “

Zoe’s response was cut short as the flat of Lucas’s hand connected with the side of her face. It wasn't a hard slap, but it didn't have to be. Zoe clutched her cheek, her eyes wide as she stared at her brother.

“Sorry, Zoe,” muttered Lucas.

“Come sit and watch cartoons with me, Lucas,” said Eveline, and Lucas obeyed, sitting on the couch next to her. Eveline sighed happily, nestling into the crook of Lucas's arm and resting her head on him. After a brief pause, Lucas leaned his head to rest on hers.

Zoe ran upstairs.

 

She stayed there all afternoon, crying on her bed, shut away from the monster child and her cowed brother. Her face stung from the slap he'd dealt her, and she tried hard not to feel betrayed by him, though it was difficult. She knew she couldn't blame him, as the noises that had continued most of the night had been harrowing and he'd suffered so much under Eveline’s influence, but for him to turn on her so quickly had been a harsher blow than the one that had landed on her face.

Zoe wished with all her heart that Lucas really had killed Eveline last night.

 

Sometime around supper, she was roused from an uneasy doze by voices coming from the main hall. Her father's deep tones rang round the quiet house as he called out to them.

Rushing down the stairs, Zoe saw her parents, Marguerite holding Jack’s arm for support but smiling.

“Momma! Daddy!”

Zoe was so relieved to see them back that she felt like crying all over again.

“Where's my baby girl?” said Jack, beaming, and just as Zoe was about to dart forward into her father's arms, Eveline appeared in the doorway.

“Here I am!” trilled Eveline, and Jack stepped forward to sweep her up in a hug. She giggled as he lifted her off her feet and spun her round, his rough beard grazing her tender little cheek.

“Bless you, child,” said Jack. “I've missed you so much…..”

“I've missed you too….. _ Daddy _ ,” said Eveline, peering over his shoulder at Zoe’s dismay with a spiteful smile on her face.

Jack turned round, spying Zoe still standing on the stairs.

“Oh - there you are. Your mother an’ I could use some coffee, if you're makin’ some,” he hinted, and strode off with Eveline in his arms.

 

Marguerite was cooking, stirring something in a pot.

“Honestly, Zoe - I feel right as rain!” she protested as Zoe tried to take over her task. “All I needed was a good night's rest.”

“But the x-rays……”

“Oh, they were just being careful,” scoffed Marguerite. “I get the feelin’ they just wanted to try out a new machine they got.”

Zoe subsided, perplexed.

Jack was sat on the couch cuddling Eveline, Mia next to him, Lucas on the footstool. There was no room for Zoe on the couch, so she sat at the table alone.

“Tell me about when you were in the Marines, daddy,” Eveline was saying.

“Well now, what would you like to hear about?” rumbled Jack agreeably.

Zoe saw Lucas glance round in concern, and for a moment she wondered why her brother was worried.

“Have you ever killed anyone, Daddy?” asked Eveline, and Lucas’s eyes widened.

“Oh, well, in the military, you gotta kill people sometimes, an’ I killed my fair share, let me tell you.”

“What was the best one?”

“Well, I guess that would have to be back in the 80s when I was stationed in Beirut. We were evacuatin’ Palestinian guerillas - now, these aren't the big apes you might be thinkin’ about, honey, those are  _ gor _ illas.  _ Gue _ rillas are people who…….”

“Dad, should you be talkin’ about all this?” interrupted Lucas nervously, glancing at Zoe.

“Oh, hush your mouth, son. Evie here is interested. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, now, one time there was a man who tried to plant a bomb in our barracks, but we caught him. Big fuss. If he'd been successful, he’d o’ killed lots an’ lots o’ us, so you better believe we were plenty angry. So we decided to take care o’ him ourselves. First thing we did was, we stripped ‘im naked an’ we - “

“Daddy!” Zoe was horrified. “You can't….I mean….”

“Oh, what now, Zoe?” said Jack irritably. “I'm tryin’ to tell your little sister a funny story here, an’ you two big ’uns keep on interruptin’!”

“A funny story?” wailed Zoe. “What's wrong with you, Daddy? Did you really murder a man in the Lebanon?”

“Weren't murder, honey - he was a terrorist. Now both o’ you mind your own goddam business an’ lemme finish. Anyway, Evie, I was kinda late to the party, cuz I'd been off entertainin’ a Lebanese whore, so by the time I got there my men had already cut off this boy’s - “

“Supper’s ready!” called Marguerite cheerfully.

Jack laughed.

“Our luck ain't in, seems like. I'll tell you the rest of the story later, Eveline.”

“Ok, Daddy,” said Eveline hopping off his lap.

They all grouped round the table. Zoe couldn't believe what she'd heard, although Lucas didn't seem surprised about any of it. She remembered when father and son had buried the hatchet in the barn the day the storm started, and wondered if Lucas had heard it all then.

She felt sick to her stomach, looking at the big, kind man who’d read her stories and had teddy bear picnics with her when she was little, and who had just been on the verge of recounting a tale about a torture and murder he'd participated in. Not to mention the Lebanese whore…..

Marguerite put a plate in front of her. It was nearly overflowing with hunks of meat drenched in blackened gravy.

“Eat up while it's hot!” she sang.

“Oh, boy, honey!” said Jack, rubbing his hands together. “This sure does look good.”

“My grandmere’s recipe, with a little somethin’ extra,” giggled Marguerite.

“Mind you, not as good as you look,” growled Jack, and grabbed a handful of her ass as she went past.

Marguerite squealed and batted at his hand.

“Jesus Christ!” said Lucas in disgust. “Can't you two give it a rest? Yer like a couple o’ horny teenagers!”

Jack chuckled, but there was a dirty undertone to it.

“Someone sounds jealous,” he said. “What's wrong, boy? You pissed off cuz you ain't ever had any action?”

Lucas’s face flushed.

“The fuck are you goin’ on about, old man?”

“Why ain't you never bought a girl home, son? Am I raisin’ a fuckin’ fag? You can tell me. I don't mind. Tell ya what, next week we can go out and buy you some nice dresses, how ‘bout that?”

“Shut up!” snarled Lucas. “I ain't queer, ok?”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, son.” Jack winked lewdly. “You can stick that dick anywhere you wanna, I ain't gonna judge you.”

“Daddy, stop it!” begged Zoe. “Leave ‘im alone!”

“You stay outta this, Zoe,” snapped Jack. “This don't concern you. This here's between me an’ your brother.”

Jack picked up his fork, an unpleasant grin stretching his mouth.

“Your _ virgin _ brother….”

Lucas slammed his fist on the table, making the plates clatter.

“Goddammit, old man! The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Ain't nothin’ wrong with me, son. Just wonderin’ what's wrong with you. A father's gotta be worried when his nearly-23-year-old son ain't popped his cherry yet……”

“Least I ain't never fucked no whore,” spat Lucas.

“What?” Marguerite now chose to get involved, having sat by and watched her husband and son bickering viciously. “What whore? What's he talkin’ about, Jack?”

“Oh, it ain't nothin’, Marguerite. Was long before I met you,” soothed Jack, spearing a chunk of meat on his fork.

“You dirty cocksucker!” shrieked Marguerite. “You used to fuck whores? And then put your filthy dick in a nice, clean girl like me?”

“Shut the fuck up, woman,” said Jack. “A man has needs! Wouldn't expect a dried up old cunt like you to understand…..”

Marguerite howled, and threw herself across the table, jabbing her fork into her husband's hand. Zoe screamed, pushing herself away from the table in panic, her chair tumbling over and spilling her onto the floor.

“Stop it!” she begged. “Stop fighting, please!”

Jack roared, pulling the fork from his hand and flinging it at his wife's face. Marguerite knocked it aside.

“You rotten bastard!” she cried. “You no good sonofabitch!”

Jack got to his feet, looming over them all. In the blue light reflected from the tv, he looked much bigger than normal, his shoulders thrown back aggressively. 

“How dare you talk to me like that, woman!” he shouted, his hand rising, curled into a fist.

Lucas leapt in front of him.

“Don't you hurt my Momma!” he yelled.

Jack laughed.

“Boy, I could snap you in half with one hand. Get outta my way! Your mother needs a lesson!”

Zoe scrambled over to Eveline, who sat placidly in her chair watching the drama unfold.

“Make them stop, Eveline. Please! Families shouldn't fight like this…”

Eveline looked at her thoughtfully.

“They shouldn't?” she asked

“No, Evie…..families love each other…..like we love you…..”

With an effort, Zoe managed to twist her mouth into a smile. It felt false lying against her face as tears streamed down her cheeks, but Eveline seemed to be convinced.

“Stop it,” she said quietly, and the room went quiet.

“You love Momma Bear, don't you Daddy?” said the little girl.

Jack crumpled, his hands falling to his sides.

“O’ course I do, child. I love her more than my own life…..”

He started to weep, big ugly sobs that tore through his barrel chest and heaved his broad shoulders.

“And Momma Bear, you love Daddy, don't you?”

“Oh, cher, he was my first love an’ my only love……”

“Then don't fight. Hug each other.”

Jack nudged Lucas out of the way and went towards Marguerite with his arms outstretched.

“Marguerite, honey, I'm so sorry….”

Marguerite fell into his arms, sobbing. Lucas stood off to one side, a dazed expression on his face.

“What in the fuck….?” he muttered. He looked down at his hand. There was a large butcher knife in it, snatched up from the serving plate in the commotion.

Zoe got up off the floor and went over to her brother, gently taking the knife from his hand.

“C’mon, Lucas. Sit down, now…..”

He looked her in the eye.

“What he said…..” said Lucas faintly, “What  _ is _ wrong with me, Zoe? Why didn't no girls ever like me?”

He looked close to tears, and Zoe’s heart went out to him.

“You just never met the right one,” she said. “Ain't nothin’ wrong with you. Don't you worry about it.”

“I don't  _ think _ I'm gay,” he said plaintively. “D’you think I am, but i just don't know it? Can that happen?”

“It don't matter if you are, Lucas. Bein’ gay ain't bad.”

“I know, but…..” he trailed off. “Ain't no boys liked me either. No one likes me.”

“That's cuz they're fools. Don't know a good thing when they see it. Sit down, yeah?”

He sat, and Zoe breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well,” she said with false cheer. “We ain't even said grace yet! Daddy, would you do the honours?”

 

Zoe was hungry and frightened.

After the fucked up scene at the dinner table she'd have been incapable of eating even if the food hadn't been contaminated, and she replayed it over and over in her head as she lay on her bed.

Despite her mother's assertions that she felt fine, Zoe had no doubt that Mia’s dire warnings were coming true, and not just for Marguerite but for Jack and Lucas too. Every time she thought of her father bullying her brother she got a pain in her chest. He had been so cruel, so savage, battering Lucas’s already fragile ego for his own entertainment. She hadn't seen her brother cry for many years, but she believed she'd come close tonight.

And as for her father's admissions about what he'd done in the Marines…..Zoe knew the harsh realities of the military were something she'd avoided thinking about, and knew deep down that her father had to have done things she wouldn't feel comfortable with, but for him to blithely recount his deeds to Eveline as if it were a bedtime story was unbearable.

And he'd threatened her mother. He'd raised his hand to her. He had never done anything like that to her knowledge.

The infection was manipulating them, exploiting their weaknesses, utilising their strengths. But what about her?

She'd felt Eveline in her mind, trying to bend her to her will - that hadn't been her imagination. But she hadn't been able to force Zoe to hurt herself. She'd had to use Lucas. And Eveline had said that she “didn't have enough in her”. That must mean she was less infected than her family yet not entirely free of it.

Zoe intended to keep it that way.

 

She crept downstairs, unable to stave off her hunger any longer.

Her mother was in the dining room, staring up at the overhead light. Moths danced and fluttered around the bulb, casting fleeting shadows over the walls.

“Look at all those pretty babies, Zoe,” said Marguerite dreamily. “Beautiful midnight butterflies.”

“Yeah, they're real nice Momma. Shouldn't you be gettin’ some rest?”

“Oh, I can sleep when I'm dead, cher! It's too nice a night to waste. There's a full moon out, all fat and warm…..I think I'll go for a walk, take in some air,” said Marguerite.

“Well, don't go wanderin’ around in the dark. I'll get you a flashlight.”

“Oh, there's no need. I got my lantern.”

Her mother wandered out, leaving Zoe free reign over the pantry. Canned food - that was the answer. The mold couldn't penetrate the seal. Zoe grabbed a can of  ravioli to take back to her room. She'd have to eat it cold, but that was fine by her. As she searched in a drawer for the can opener, the kitchen door swung open. Her father stood framed by the doorway, backlit by the hall light.

“What are you doin’ sneakin’ around?” he demanded.

“Just came to get somethin’ to eat, Daddy.”

“If you’d o’ eaten your supper you wouldn't be hungry now, would you?” he observed, his voice stern. “I can't have you prowlin’ around every night stealin’ food, Zoe. You gotta eat what you're given. I can't abide a picky eater!”

He strode forward and snatched the can from her hand.

“Now git yourself back up to bed or I’ll tan your hide!”

Zoe stared in confusion.

“But Daddy…..”

“Don't make me repeat myself, Zoe! I'm warnin’ you, I'm runnin’ outta patience!”

His right arm jerked, and Zoe cringed instinctively. He laughed, the sound vindictive, as though he was enjoying her fear.

“Never knew you was such a pussy, Zoe,” he said. “Fuckin’ twitchy little coward, like your brother. Now get the fuck upstairs ‘fore I really lose my temper.”

Zoe fled, tears stinging at her eyes. Something told her it would be a mistake to cry in front if him, and she stifled the sob that threatened to burst from her throat.

Lucas stood at the bottom of the stairs, his face sullen. He'd witnessed the entire encounter, she realised.

“Fuckin’ coward, am I? I'll show him…..”

“No, Lucas! Please….he'll hurt you.”

“He can try,” he sneered.

Something clanked against the bannister as he moved, and Zoe saw with horror that he had the crowbar he'd used on Eveline the night before.

“Jesus, Lucas! You ain't gonna use that on him, are you?”

Lucas glared at her in the dim light, his eyes two gleaming pinpoints.

“Get upstairs, Zoe,” he said, and moved towards the kitchen.

 

Zoe didn't want to run off and hide, but she had, to her shame. There was no way she'd be able to intervene without getting injured herself, and by this point she was so scared she was incapable of functioning.

She pulled her bed covers over her head, trembling as she breathed in the hot air of her cave. She could hear Lucas and her father, their voices raised in anger, her father's deep boom dominating her brother's more nasal tone. There was a crash as something broke, and Zoe clamped her hands over her ears.

The whole house seemed to shake as something hit a wall. Lucas’s voice drifted up, filled with rage, undercut by Jack’s contemptuous laughter. Glass shattered. There was a solid thump in the hall as the scuffle travelled over the lower floor. A howl of pain - her brother’s - reverberated up the staircase, followed by a series of wet cracking sounds.

“You fuckin’ little bitch!” roared her father. “How dare you - “

His voice cut off abruptly, a splintering noise completing his sentence. She heard Lucas laugh, a high-pitched maniacal cackle that made her shiver.

“Fuck you, old man!” he sang out with vicious glee.

Zoe grabbed her pillow, wrapping it round her head, and waited for it all to end.

 

Light filtered through her covers as her bedroom door opened, and Zoe peeped out with one wet eye. Lucas walked into the room, his face bruised, blood running from his mouth. Zoe cowered under the covers, but Lucas held up a placating hand.

“S’okay. Don't panic. Here.”

He tossed something that fell heavily onto her bed, narrowly missing her toes. It was the can of ravioli. Lucas pulled a can opener and a spoon from the pocket of his hoodie, and that landed on the bed too.

“Eat up, Zoe. Gotta keep yer strength up.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I better go. Old man's gonna be pissed when he gets up.”

“Thank you, Lucas.”

He shrugged.

“Gotta help you while I still can. Don't know how much longer I'll be able to.” He turned to leave the room, stopping briefly in the doorway. “Oh, an’ Zoe - I worked it out: I think it's stronger at night. So stock up on food durin’ the day, stay in here when it's dark.”

Lucas left the room, shutting the door behind him.


	9. Insurrection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe talks to Mia, Jack has an accident, Zoe gets taught a lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Lots more oogy stuff in this chapter. Also, part way through I mention that Zoe has long hair, BUT BEAR WITH ME. It will all make sense.
> 
> A little bit of naked Zoe too. Just a teaser for Shorewall. ;)

_ My body's feeling weirder and weirder. _ _   
_ _ Soon I'll become like mom and dad. _ _   
_ _ It's all her fault. _ _   
_ _ Should I run? No, I can't. I'm dead if she finds out. _ _   
_ _ That woman she was with, Mia, She knows something. _ _   
_ _ If I had the serum I could cure myself. _ _   
_ __ I have to find out more.

 

  * __Zoe’s Investigation Notes__



 

 

 

Zoe had been hiding in her room for two days. She wanted to test Lucas’s theory that the mold was more active at night, but she was scared that he might be wrong.

During the day, Lucas smuggled provisions up for her.

“You're gonna have to start doin’ this yourself, Zoe,” he warned her. “Don't know how long I'll feel the need to do it.”

“What do you mean?” asked Zoe.

She'd complacently assumed that Lucas would continue to take care of her, allowing her to stay up here out of the way of her increasingly demented parents.

“I mean, I'm further gone than you. When Eveline puked in my mouth, she filled me with a pretty hefty amount o’ that fuckin’ stuff, and it ain't makin’ me sick no more. The pain’s gone, the pukin’ ain't come back. I feel strong, Zoe. I feel…..different. An’ the worst part is, I'm likin’ it. I  _ want  _ it to happen. Ever’ time Momma serves up her shit with the mold in it, I just wanna gobble that stuff up. It's like a cravin’.”

He looked at her sadly.

“I don't wanna scare you, Zoe, but I have to be realistic. I'll be hers soon. Body an’ soul. She won't have to threaten me or hurt me to make me do stuff for her. I'll just do it. An’ I think I'll enjoy it.”

“But Lucas - “

He cut her off.

“I mean it, Zoe. You gotta prepare yourself if you're gonna stay alive. Eveline…..well, she don't like you. She told me. Said there weren't room for two daughters in the family. But I reckon if you go along with her an’ keep her happy, she'll let you stay. Another fuckin’ slave for her, after all.”

“Can't you fight it?”

“It's too late. I can't do anythin’ against her - she's in my head now. You can, though. Mia’s the answer. Bitch knows more than she's lettin’ on. You get her alone and you find out what the fuck she knows.”

“There was a note….” said Zoe, a vague memory nagging at her. “The night they both came. I went out into the trailer to find her, an’ it looked like she was gonna leave without tellin’ us cuz she'd written a note. There was somethin’ about a serum.”

“Well, there you go! She knows! What did I say? You gotta get to her when Eveline ain't around. You're our only hope now, Zoe.”

The conversation was sobering, and after Lucas had gone the reality of her huge responsibility weighed heavily on her. Her parents and brother were too far gone to help themselves, so she'd have to do it for them.

She was scared though, and not just for them. She'd avoided the mold as best she could but it spread so fast and the night before she'd lain in bed struggling with the urge to go downstairs and join her crazy family - just give in and let the insanity overwhelm her. It would be easier in many ways.

 

She ventured downstairs, feeling like she was behind enemy lines. Her mother was sat at the dining room table, scribbling in a small book.

“Hello, cher,” she said placidly. “There's coffee in the pot if you want some.”

There was no mention of Zoe’s prolonged absence.

“Thanks. How you feelin’, Momma?”

“Kinda queasy, but not too bad. Must be some kinda virus, or somethin’, I'm sure I'll shake it soon. Ain't you gonna say hello to your sister?” Marguerite glanced at the chair next to her. “Oh! Now where did that girl go? She was there a second ago!”

She frowned, looking uneasy.

“Do you know where Mia is?”

“She's out in the trailer. I wish you'd persuade her to come into the house to sleep, I don't like her shut out there. She should be takin’ care o’ Eveline. Irresponsible parentin’, I call it.”

“I'll go talk to her,” said Zoe.

 

She had to admit, it was nice to be outside after being cooped up. She walked across the yard towards the trailer. Mia had shut herself away much like Zoe had, but she wasn't about to allow the woman to bury her head in the sand if she knew of a way to help.

Zoe tried the trailer door. It was locked. She rapped her knuckles against it.

“Hey! Open up!”

“Go away…..”

Zoe gritted her teeth and knocked harder.

“I ain't leavin’ till you let me in. You got no right to lock yourself up in there - this ain't your house, after all.”

The door opened a crack, one eye peering through the slit suspiciously.

“What do you want?”

“I just wanna talk. About the night you got here. You wrote a note.”

The eye blinked.

“I don't wanna talk,” said Mia.

“Tough shit!”

Zoe threw her shoulder against the door, knocking the other woman backwards, and forced her way inside.

The trailer was dark, the windows covered. Mia had made herself a little trash-nest in which she must have been sleeping. It was grubby with mold and sweat.

“I wanna know what you wrote at the end of the note, about the serum. You know how to stop this, don't you?”

“I do, but it can't be done unless we have the things we need. I only have one component. We need something else to complete it.”

Mia went into a corner and dug amongst the junk piled there, producing an object wrapped in cloth.

“This is the D-series head,”she said, unwrapping it.

Zoe remembered the shrivelled, dried up thing.

“You had that with you the night you came here!”

She snatched it from Mia, cringing at the leathery texture of the thing. It was disgusting, a wizened little goblin of a thing bound with wire, it's disproportionately large hands spread over what must have been its face. The top of the head had been removed, revealing the dried up walnut of its brain.

“D-series? They really been tryin’ to perfect this for awhile, huh?”

Mia nodded.

“Eveline’s E-series. Seems like they got it right with her.”

Zoe snorted.

“Would o’ been nice if you'd kept her under control,” said Zoe. “Why do people do this shit? You'd o’ thought they'd o’ seen enough horror movies to know that these things always go to hell…”

Mia shrugged, and extended her hand to take the thing back, but Zoe pulled it away.

“Uh-uh, I'm keepin’ this safe. I don't trust you - you’re Eveline’s bitch. Damn near took my brother's eye out the other night at her say-so.”

Mia hung her head.

“You're probably right,” she whispered, sounding so mortified that Zoe very nearly softened towards her.

She knocked that feeling right on the head.

It was her fault, ultimately, that they were in the position they were now - her and whatever fucking company she worked for.

“Playin’ God,” said Zoe. “That's what they were doin’. An’ you were party to it. Hope you're fuckin’ happy now.”

 

Jack and Lucas were down by the old house clearing fallen trees. They seemed to have put their fight from the other night aside, chatting easily as they worked.

Zoe watched them from a distance, too uneasy to approach, but Jack spotted her and waved cheerfully.

“You ain't been outta your room for two days, Zoe! You been ill?” he called.

His face showed no awkwardness, no apology, no guilt - as if he didn't remember what had happened at all.

“Uh, yeah, Daddy….I been sick…..”

She approached them cautiously.

“What are you up to?” she asked.

“A lot o’ trees fell durin’ the storm, honey. We gotta clear access to the old house. Eveline wants a room there!” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I tell you, that child gets an idea in her head, she won't take no for an answer!”

Lucas cast a meaningful glance her way, but said nothing.

“You best stay back, Zoe,” continued Jack. “This here's dangerous work!”

Zoe perched herself on a tree stump by the bridge that led to the old house to watch the men at work. They had a chainsaw each, and lengths of sturdy rope.

Jack lifted his chainsaw.

“You know what would be amazin’, son?” he asked Lucas.

“What's that, dad?”

“If they made chainsaws with two blades!” He bellowed. “Like a pair o’ fuckin’ scissors, an’ you could just snap ‘em shut on the wood. Wouldn't that be great?”

“Yeah….actually it would…..” said Lucas, putting his head on one side as he examined his own chainsaw.

“You reckon you could do that?”

Lucas nodded slowly.

“Ya know what? I reckon I could. We got that old broken one somewhere, ain't we? Might take some work, but if we can find that, I'll give a try.”

“That's my boy!” Jack laughed a little too enthusiastically,  slapping Lucas on the shoulder.

Zoe frowned. On the surface, there was nothing wrong with the conversation they'd just had, but it had been odd, somehow. A double bladed chainsaw? Jesus….

Jack started up his chainsaw and began to cut into one of the fallen tree trunks, the teeth of the saw whirling effortlessly through the wood. Sawdust flew into the air.

“You know what, son?” bawled Jack over the noise of the saw. “I feel better now than I did 20 years ago! I feel like a new man!”

“That's nice, dad,” said Lucas, lighting a cigarette and leaning against a post.

“Must be somethin’ in the water, I reckon,” bellowed Jack. “Last night, me an’ your mother……”

Lucas hurled his cigarette down and started up his own chainsaw hastily, drowning out his father's next words.

It stuttered and failed.

“....an’ you know, I ain't been able to do it that many times in one night for years, not since our anniversary one time when we…..”

Lucas tried again, the chainsaw roaring into life, blessedly blotting out Jack’s tale. Lucas started to cut into the tree trunk, but the chainsaw stopped again as it penetrated the bark.

“….cuz the next day neither of us could walk straight!”

Jack laughed, shaking his head.

“Your mother was more surprised than I was!”

“Dad! I don't wanna know! Jesus…..”

Lucas threw down his chainsaw.

“Mine don't work. What do you want me to do?”

“Get the rope, boy, I'm nearly done with this chunk,” said Jack.

Lucas stooped, picking up a long loop of rope, but as he tossed it over his shoulder there was a grinding noise, and Jack’s chainsaw kicked in his hands.

Blood sprayed in a bright arc, showering over the ground and Lucas. Zoe stood in horror as the blade of the chainsaw turned away from the wood and began to eat into her father's thigh instead.

“Daddy!”

She set off at a run, her feet skidding on damp wood dust that was pink with blood. Jack was staggering backwards, his pale face daubed with streaks of crimson, the chainsaw waving in his flailing hand. Lucas was closer, and darted forward, ducking under the whirling blade and knocking the saw from his father's grasp. It sailed off onto the grass, sliding several feet before stopping.

“Holy shit, dad, you're hurt!”

Jack sagged onto the ground, his thigh spurting in pulsing jets.

“You hit an artery!”

Lucas’s hands slipped in the blood as he clamped his hands over the wound.

“We gotta keep the pressure on. Zoe! Get my phone, it's in my pocket! Call 911!”

Zoe fumbled in the pocket of Lucas's hoodie, the hard edges of his phone dancing teasingly away from her fingers.

“It's ok, son,” said Jack weakly. He took Lucas wrist and started to pry his hand away.

“Fuck, dad, no it ain't!”

“Have faith, boy. My little girl won't let me die.”

There ensued a brief struggle, Jack grappling with Lucas’s hands, before he pushed Lucas  away.

The blood had already stopped, shiny skin forming where it had been oozing. Lucas and Zoe stared.

Jack got to his feet.

“I told you. Did you forget? I accepted her gift, like you, son, an’ look what it's brought me. Eternal life. The end o’ pain. Now put yer eyes back in yer sockets an’ help me clear away these trunks!”

Zoe felt weak. The whole thing had only taken a few minutes, the sight of the blood making her forget everything else, only for it to turn into another learning experience. What was in Lucas had healed him, so it was obvious it would do the same for her father.

She watched Jack wipe blood from his face and casually pick up his discarded chainsaw, setting it whirring back to life, red droplets flying from the teeth. He started to sing - Johnny Cash’s version of Nine Inch Nails’s “Hurt”.

“ _ I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel, I focused on the pain, the only thing that's real……” _

He looked happy.

Zoe trudged back to the house.

 

Lunch was served, and Zoe tried to duck out.

“No, Zoe,” said Eveline. “You eat with the rest of us.”

Zoe stood frozen in the doorway, trapped by the multiple pairs of eyes pinning her in place. They were all watching her: Her parents, her brother, that woman, the monster child.

Lucas looked sad, but offered no support, merely picking up his sandwich and biting into it.

Jack indicated her seat.

“Sit with your family, Zoe,” he said, his face stern and serious. “You can't keep hidin’ up in your room.”

“But I'm not hungry….” Zoe squirmed under their combined gazes.

“Your mother prepared this food for you. She didn't have to - you're old enough to make your own. But she's fed you all your life, taken care o’ you. So show a bit o’ gratitude an’ eat your lunch.”

He didn't seem angry, but she didn't know what it would take for him to become so. She sat next to Lucas.

The sandwich was made from moldy bread and tainted meat - the white bread dotted with little fuzzy black patches, the ham glistening. She picked it up slowly, waiting for the attention to leave her so she could make some sort of pretence of having eaten, but she appeared to be at the centre of it.

“Eat,” said Jack with quiet menace.

Lucas had wolfed his down in his usual gluttonous fashion, with barely any chewing, and his cheeks were still stuffed like a chipmunk’s.

“I'll have hers if she don't want it,” he offered.

Zoe couldn't tell if he was throwing her a lifeline or just being greedy, but when she moved to hand it to him the flat of her father's hand met the table with a harsh slam.

“No! The girl has to eat. Keep her strength up. Don't want her tryin’ to look like the women in the fashion magazines, all skin an’ bone. Starvation ain't glamorous, Zoe!”

“Those pictures are all altered, anyway,” interjected her mother. “Nobody really looks like that, cher.”

Helpless, Zoe forced herself to take a small bite.

The flavour of the mold wasn't overpowering, but the knowledge that it was there was enough to make her gag. She could feel it sliming the meat, furring the bread. She chewed, the strangled noise coming from her throat eliciting no sympathy from her father.

It took her three attempts to swallow, the morsel bobbing back up every time she tried to force it down, but she managed it eventually.

Jack beamed in approval.

“There you go! Weren't too hard!”

He picked up his own sandwich and tore off a large section with relish. Zoe watched the moldy bread disappear between his teeth, struggling not to retch.

As they ate, Jack recounted his tale about the chainsaw, using it like an evangelist at the pulpit, telling how he'd been Saved. Eveline smiled at his worship, sliding contaminated ham from her sandwich with her fingers and nibbling at the scraps.

Zoe used the distraction of his anecdote to stash bits of her lunch in her pockets for later disposal, but she still had to eat some. By the end of the meal it felt like the mold had coated her throat with its foulness.

“Well done, Zoe,” said Eveline as Zoe sat struggling with her nausea. “You ate all your lunch!”

The child's smug look was back, completely ignoring the large amount of leftovers on her own plate. Zoe managed a weak smile and was allowed to excuse herself.

 

Zoe looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, trying to see if she appeared any different.

She saw a pale-faced, thin girl with long black hair tied up in a ponytail, her mouth set in a grim line, her eyes hollow from worry and broken sleep. She looked ill, but not wrong. She tried a smile. It was weary, but comparatively normal. A frown: Irritated but not murderous.

Reassured, she grabbed her toothbrush and smeared it with toothpaste, wanting to get the taste from her mouth.

As she scrubbed her teeth vigorously she heard a noise behind her. The bathroom door swung open on its hinges with a tired creak, and she saw her brother reflected in the mirror watching her.

“How much did you really eat?” he asked.

Zoe shrugged, her shoulders rising and falling without much energy.

“Less than half, I'd say,” she told him, spitting into the basin.

Lucas mulled her answer over.

“You might be ok. I dunno. Remains to be seen, I guess.” He paused.

“Why don't you just go with it?” he asked eventually. “Let it take over. It ain't as bad as you'd think. An’ it's a lot easier than fightin’.”

She regarded him with horror.

“Did Evie tell you to say that?”

“What? No! I'm just worried about you. You keep defyin’ her, she's gonna make you pay. An’ if she don't, the old man or Momma will. I heard ‘em talkin’. They ain't mad - not durin’ the day at least - but they keep goin’ on about you bein’ stubborn an’ ungrateful. You gotta be careful, Zoe.”

She said nothing, still brushing her teeth, looking at him in the mirror.

He waved a hand dismissively.

“You prolly shouldn't worry about anythin’ I say. Just the mold talkin’. Still, though, maybe you should at least pretend to eat more, join us for meals an’ stuff. Stop ’em gettin’ suspicious…..”

Zoe shook her head and spat in the sink again. This time the toothpaste froth was grey, and she quickly rinsed it away out of sight.

“Whatever, Zoe. I'm just tryin’ to help.”

He wandered off. The whole exchange had made her feel uncomfortable, uncertain whether he really was concerned or whether he was far gone enough that he was trying to coerce her into cooperating.

Whichever it was, he was right in some ways: She would have to be more careful.

 

She hadn't intended to sleep, but what was meant to be a brief rest turned into a lengthy nap.

She dreamed that she was stood on the verandah at the back of the house, watching her father down in the yard talk to some men. They were big men, rough looking, scarred. One of them had a gun tucked into his belt.

“What's goin’ on? D’you know?” she asked Lucas, who stood next to her. He was fiddling with his phone.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, but didn't elaborate.

“Aren't you gonna tell me?” demanded Zoe, irritated.

“Nope. Ain't my business,” answered Lucas.

Sighing, she turned back to the animated discussion her father was having. He was waving his hands angrily.

“Do they want something?” Zoe wondered. The curiosity was killing her.

Lucas laughed.

“You could say that.”

Money changed hands. Jack turned towards the house, rolling up a huge wad of bills and stuffing them in his pocket.

“Zoe, c’mere!” he called.

Zoe didn't want to go down there. The men scared her. One of them looked deadly serious, but the other was grinning at her in a way she didn't like.

“I said come here, girl!” snapped Jack, starting to look pissed off.

Zoe shook her head and took a step backwards instead.

Jack turned towards the men and said something, then began to make his way to the house. His expression was grim.

“Zoe, get your ass down there!” he scolded.

“Why?”

“They own you now. You gotta go with them.”

“What?”

A sick feeling speared through her stomach.

“Daddy, I don't understand!”

Jack sighed, exasperated.

“I just sold you!” he explained. “We needed the money, an’ you don't seem to want to be a part of this family, so I sold you to these two gentlemen here. Now get on down there, they paid a lot o’ money for your worthless hide.”

“No, Daddy! You can't do that!” said Zoe desperately.  She hoped it was some sort of sick joke, but her father looked deadly serious.

“I just did. Don't be silly now, Zoe. They're startin’ to get impatient, an’ believe me, you don't wanna piss them off!”

He grabbed her arm above the elbow, his fingers biting into her flesh, and started to drag her down the steps.

“You can't sell people!” screamed Zoe, holding onto the handrail. “Lucas, help!”

Lucas shrugged, not looking up from his phone.

“We needed the money, Zoe,” he said. “Daddy's gonna buy me a brand new bike for my birthday!”

Jack gave her arm a yank, hurting her, but she clung to the rail all the harder.

“What do they want me for?” she wept, terrified.

Lucas laughed. It sounded dirty. Even her father chuckled.

“Don't pretend to be so naive, Zoe,” he said. “You know what they want. What else would two men want from a fresh young girl like yourself? Come along, child. What's done is done. Just do what they want an’ I'm sure you'll be fine…..”

He ripped her hands from the rail and lifted her bodily, her legs thrashing as he carried her across the grass.

“You can't do this! Daddy, no! You can't sell me!”

There was a van waiting, its windows sprayed with black paint, the back doors standing open to reveal a rusted set of manacles and an old, stained mattress.

“Bye, Zoe!” called Lucas cheerfully, waving from the verandah. Eveline stood next to him, a little patch of darkness alongside her brother.

 

Zoe woke up just as her father was about to deposit her in the back of the van. Her heart was pounding, her stomach a queasy knot. The terror and despair she'd felt was still there, carried over from her dreamworld.

Eveline stood by her bed.

“Bad dream, Zoe?” she asked innocently.

“It was horrible!” Zoe sobbed. “There were two men, and….oh!”

“I know,” said Eveline.

“ _ How _ do you know?”

“I gave you the dream,” said Eveline. “Some of it, anyway. Your mind filled in the rest.”

“Why would you do that?” whispered Zoe incredulously. “And  _ how?” _

“I just can.” The girl shrugged. “I've got you Zoe, but I don't need you. Remember that when you think you're being clever.”

Then she was gone.

 

Lucas knocked on her door to call her down to supper.

“I'm not coming down!” she told him.

Lucas frowned.

“You kinda have to. Eveline said she wants you down there, an’ if you don't come, the old man says he gonna come fetch you. Just come down Zoe. Please? It'll be easier.”

“No! I'm not sitting at the same table as tha- as  _ her _ . Do you know, she gave me a dream earlier?”

“Yeah, she can do that.” Lucas rubbed the back of his neck. “I think it's easier for her when you're asleep. You ain't got your defenses up.”

“She's done it to you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What sort of dream did she give you?”

“Just kid stuff. Me climbin’ trees with her. Givin’ her rides on my back an’ all that.”

Zoe didn't want to pout but the contrast between the dreams Eveline had doled out to them was marked.

“She gave me a real bad dream, Lucas. It was horrible!”

“Yeah, well, it was prolly some sort of punishment for you. Mine had rewards at the end.”

Zoe looked at him narrowly. 

“What sort of rewards?”

Lucas blushed, looking uncomfortable.

“Just….stuff I want…..you know….”

“Lucas, did she give you  _ sex dreams _ ?”

Horrifying as Eveline and her dream manipulation was, it had never occurred to Zoe that the child would have the knowledge or capability to instil a sexual element into them. Although, hadn't that been implied in hers…?

“It ain't like that, Zoe. She kinda, I dunno, digs around in yer subconscious and finds stuff that you like or hate…..an’ uses it. Yer own mind supplies the details, she just gets ‘em outta storage. Don't mean she understands them.”

Lucas looked severely embarrassed now, but not so much that Zoe didn't want to probe further.

“So what kinda stuff - an’ bear in mind I don't want no  _ specific  _ details here - what kinda stuff has she given you as a reward?”

Lucas scraped the toe of his sneaker against the floor, looking downwards.

“Rosalie was in one,” he said softly. “All grown up, like I imagine her to be now…..”

“How can you be sure Eveline’s doin’ it, though? Why can't it just be your own mind givin’ you the dreams?”

“I don't know!” said Lucas, looking exasperated. “I just….I can tell. She's kinda there, but not. Nevermind all that shit, anyway. You comin’ down to supper or what?”

“No.” Zoe folded her arms defiantly. “Not after that fuckin’ dream.”

Lucas raised his eyebrows.

“Ain't that  _ more _ of a reason to come down?” he pointed out.

Zoe faltered for a moment, then shook her head.

“Ok….” Lucas blew out a big breath. “She's gonna be pissed, though. Don't say I didn't warn you.”

 

Heavy footsteps on the stairs.  _ Thump thump thump _ .

Zoe cowered down on her bed, ready for an argument, but Jack didn't want to argue. It was dark outside, and The Other Jack was out.

Her bedroom door burst open, slamming back against the wall, and her father stood in the doorway.

Zoe panicked, sitting up.

“I was just about to come down, Daddy,” she whimpered, but her father ignored her, striding into the room.

“When you are told to come down to supper, I expect you to come down to supper!” he roared.

Zoe shrank back against the wall behind her bed.

“I will have  _ respect _ in this house! You will do as you are told! Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Daddy, but…..”

She broke off as Jack reached behind her and grabbed her by the hair, winding the long ponytail around his fist. Zoe screamed as he jerked her head forward, her scalp burning with pain, and tried to stand up to relieve the pressure, but her father pulled too fast and dragged her off the bed onto the floor. Her knees hit the wooden boards, the sickening pain in her kneecaps at war with the sharper one in her head, but she had no time to figure out which was worse.

Jack tugged her, still lecturing, along the floor.

“We have  _ worked _ and  _ slaved _ to make a home for you, yet you lounge around in your room an’ refuse to socialise with your  _ family _ like some kind of  _ fuckin’ brat!” _

Scrambling desperately, Zoe managed to get her feet underneath her, but her father only increased the grip on her hair, pulling her up so she was on her toes.

“From now on, you come when we call or so help me I will  _ drag  _ you  _ every step of the way!” _

“Daddy! Stop it, please!” wailed Zoe.

Jack yanked her hair, the roots tearing, causing tears to spill from her eyes.

Half scampering, half dragged, Zoe was propelled down the stairs and into the dining room where everyone sat waiting. Only Lucas looked sympathetic. Mia stared at her plate rigidly, refusing to look up, while Marguerite shook her head in disapproval - not at her husband's rough treatment, but at her daughter’s poor manners. Eveline sat with her hands folded on the table before her, her eyes gleaming.

Jack shoved Zoe into her chair, not relinquishing his hold. He bent her head back brutally, bringing his snarling face close to hers.

“Now,” he said, his voice deceptively quiet. “You will sit here and enjoy a  _ family _ supper with none o’ your complainin’. Do you hear me?”

“Y-yes, Daddy,” sobbed Zoe.

Jack nodded in satisfaction then straightened. As a finishing touch, he roughly wound her ponytail through the spindles of the chair back, knotting it in place, forcing Zoe to sit with her head held back, her spine arched.

Jack took his place at the table.

“Let's say grace,” he said cheerfully.

Zoe felt Mia take her hand on the right, Lucas her left. He squeezed her fingers comfortingly.

“Dear Lord,” intoned Jack. “I wanna take this opportunity to thank you for the bounty you have given us, an’ that we have our  _ entire _ family at this table to enjoy it. I ask you to forgive your errant daughter Zoe for her pride and stubbornness, even though she don't deserve it, an’ beg you to make her see the error o’ her ways. An’ lastly, I wanna thank you once again for bringin’ our blessed daughter Evie to us, an’ for the gift she has chosen to bestow upon us all. Amen.”

Zoe couldn't see what everyone was doing, but she heard the squelching sounds of something wet being devoured, the champing of exaggerated chewing.

“Mmm-mmm- _ mmm!”  _ said Jack. “Marguerite, you have outdone yourself once again! Your chitterlin’s are the best in Louisiana, I swear!”

“That's because they're made with  _ love _ ,” said Marguerite, simpering.

Jack grunted.

“Eat yer supper, Zoe.”

Zoe groped blindly for her fork, her fingertips dipping into her plate and the mess it held. She tried to grab a chunk of meat, but it skidded from her fingers onto her lap. She cried silently.

Eveline giggled.

“Look at Zoe!” she mocked. “She looks silly…..”

Jack chuckled.

“She sure does, honey. Maybe that'll teach her to behave.”

Zoe heard Marguerite click her tongue.

“Jack, she's gonna make a mess! She can't eat like that.”

“I guess not. Ok, then. Lucas, feed your sister.”

“Aw, dad!” complained Lucas, his mouth full. “I ain't done yet! I don't want it to get cold…..”

“Fat chance o’ that happenin’, the rate you eat!” laughed Jack. “You feed her when you're done, then.”

Zoe sat, restrained by her hair, while her family ate. All too soon she heard Lucas’s fork to her left, scraping the last of his gravy from his empty plate. He belched loudly, and Eveline sniggered.

“Right. Your turn now, Zoe,” said her brother.

His face came into view, looming over hers.

“Eat up now, sis,” he cautioned, and before she could reply a forkful of rancid meat was shoved between her lips.

She spluttered in shock, her body fighting to repel the dubious nourishment, but Lucas was merciless. As the mouthful caught in her throat another bite was introduced, the fork poking it down till she nearly choked.

Her brother's face was neutral: He didn't look happy, or sad, or angry, or sympathetic. Just implacable. He had been told to feed her, and feed her he would.

The rest of them left the table, Jack and Eveline retiring to watch tv, Mia and Marguerite taking the plates into the kitchen. Zoe hoped this meant Lucas would ease up on her, let her get away with not eating the rest, but he continued robotically, stuffing more slimy offal into her mouth.

She tried to spit some out, but he pinched her lips together with his fingers, waiting patiently until she'd swallowed.

“Yer doin’ good, Zoe,” he told her encouragingly.  “Open wide, here comes the train! Choo-choo!”

Zoe burped and vomited, half chewed lumps of meat spewing from her mouth and dribbling down her chin. Lucas shook his head.

“Yer wastin’ it, Zoe,” he said reproachfully, and for a second she thought he was going to force what she'd vomited back into her mouth and her throat clenched in rebellion, but instead he did something worse: Glancing round furtively to make sure no one was looking, he speared some of it on the fork and ate it himself.

Zoe closed her eyes, her face twisting in disgust.

“Hey - waste not, want not,” he said in a low voice, and she got a faceful of his stale breath.

 

In the end, Lucas finished most of her supper - not out of kindness but out of greed, eating roughly three forkfuls of her food for every one he gave her, mopping up the last of her gravy using stale bread and devouring it with every sign of enjoyment.

“She's done, dad. Shall I let her loose now?”

“Yeah,” said Jack without much interest. He was watching the news, his arm around Eveline.

“I drew a bath for her,” said Marguerite. “She's all yucky. Make sure she gets clean.”

“Kay, Momma.”

Lucas fumbled behind her, and to her relief the dreadful pressure on her scalp was released.

Her head lolled useless on her neck, the muscles cramping. Zoe let out a moan.

“C’mon, sis, let's get you in the tub,” said Lucas companionably.

Zoe tried to stand but her legs were shaking too much and she felt ill.

She felt her brother's arm around her waist, taking her own arm and slinging it round his shoulders. He hoisted her up, the soles of her shoes skidding across the floor.

It was ironic that Marguerite had ordered a bath for her, as she could smell her brother's own powerful body odour coming off him in waves, but she figured it was just another display of control and a vehicle for her humiliation.

Lucas half-carried her up the stairs and into the bathroom.

“Lucas…..” she protested weakly. “No!”

“Aw, don't panic! It's just a bit o’ water!”

He hooked his free arm behind her knees, lifting her up and tossing her fully clothed into the tub.

The water was ice cold, and she screamed.

Lucas laughed.

“Reckon Momma forgot the hot water,” he cackled, slapping his knee. “Ah well, water's water. It'll do the job. Scrub up now, Zoe, I ain't got all night.”

He leaned against the bathroom wall, picking his teeth, as she shivered in the tub. She found a sliver of soap and did her best to clean the black bib of vomit that stained the front of her blouse. Her hands shuddered, numb fingers dropping the soap more than once.

“Top to toe, now,” instructed Lucas cheerfully. “Clean body, clean mind.”

Her head was aching, her scalp stinging, as she squeezed shampoo onto her palm and lathered her hair. She was trying to be as fast as possible, not wanting to be in the freezing water any longer than necessary, but still Lucas got impatient.

“Dang, Zoe! Yer slower than a month o’ Sundays. Lemme give you a hand.”

She felt his hand on the top of her head, and instinctively took a deep breath just in time as he pushed her downwards. Frigid water closed over her face and the top of her head, the shocking temperature making her heart skip a beat sickeningly. She thrashed her hands, groping for the edge of the tub, but Lucas pulled her back up by her hair before she could get a grip. She gasped, snorting water from her nose.

“There! Allll done. Outcha get, sis.”

He grabbed her under her arms and hauled her out. She hunched over, shivering, her teeth chattering together. Her blouse had gone transparent, and she quickly folded her arms across her chest.

Lucas tossed her a towel and she snagged it gratefully, wrapping it round her.

“Ya know, Zoe, I got some brotherly advice ya ain't gonna like,” he said, eyeing her critically.

“An’ w-what's th-that?” she stuttered sullenly.

“Cut yer hair. It gives the old man a good hand hold, an’ I'm bettin’ that fuckin’ hurt bein’ tied to the chair by it.”

She put her hand to her hair. She'd been growing it since was 12, and she was ridiculously proud of it. A boyfriend she'd had used to be obsessed with it, pulling it across his chest when they lay in bed together. He'd told her it made her look like a mermaid.

Zoe sobbed.

Lucas shrugged.

“Was just a suggestion. Don't make no difference to me,” he said.

“No….you're right. Would you help me?” she asked.

“Sure,” said Lucas cheerfully, and went to fetch the scissors.

 

He'd brought a huge pair of stainless steel shears, the twin blades shining wickedly as he snapped them together. Zoe sat on a stool in the bathroom, the towel still round her, facing away from the mirror.

“Here we go then.”

She felt Lucas gather her wet hair back in a loose tail, twisting it near the nape of her neck.

The cold metal of the shears touched the sensitive skin as Lucas slid them into place, and before she could change her mind he was cutting.

The blades were sharp, but her hair was still tugged awfully as he hacked, the thick strands parting sounding loud behind her. She couldn't help snivelling as her head grew lighter, and as he sawed the last shreds off she felt her spirit flicker and die.

“There.”

Zoe felt a damp nudge on her arm, and Lucas handed the long hank of her hair round to her. She took the shiny black rope from him, staring at it dully.

Lucas circled her, eying her shorn head, biting his lip.

“Ain't quite even,” he muttered, ever the perfectionist, and descended on her head again, snipping here and there, trimming the ragged ends.

He took a step back.

“Actually, it don't look half bad,” he said. “I reckon it suits you.”

He nodded in satisfaction at a job well done and left without another word.

Alone, Zoe stood and tottered over to the mirror, her damp hair suspended from her fist. The woman that stared back at her looked older, but she wasn't sure if it was the haircut or the torment that had changed her face. She turned her head from side, examining the new style.

Against all odds, Lucas hadn't done a bad job, although she wouldn't recommend it as a career for him. She'd tidy it up tomorrow.

 

In her room, Zoe removed her wet clothes and spread them out to dry overnight. Marguerite hadn't done any laundry in a while, and until Zoe could get to the washing machine unmolested she knew she'd have to make do with the same outfit.

She crawled into bed naked, pulling the covers round her tightly in an attempt to warm up, but it took a long time for her shivering to stop.

She was scared.

Scared to sleep, in case Eveline decided to rape her dreams again. Scared to relax in case her father decided she should socialise some more and came to drag her back downstairs. And  scared of what was going to happen to her body now she'd eaten so much of the mold-infected food.

She turned over onto her back and stared up at the dark ceiling.

“You did good, Zoe,” said a small voice, and Zoe jerked her head.

Eveline stood there, a blacker patch in the black bedroom, her pale face seeming to float in midair.

“You get a reward for being good. Now go to sleep,” said the girl.

Zoe was still frightened, but at Eveline’s command she felt her eyelids grow heavy.

Mason Cooper was in her dream - the bagboy from the grocery store she'd fantasised about, and he stood at the foot of her bed.

“Hi, Mason,” she said.

“Hi Zoe,” he replied, running his thick tongue over his lips.

He lifted the covers by her feet and crawled under, his breath hot against her skin, stopping when he was halfway up.

“Good boy, Mason,” she told him.

“Thankth, Zoe,” he replied, his voice muffled, and putting his head between her thighs he started to lick.


	10. Incubation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe fights the infection as her family embrace it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fighting. Bugs. Abuse. Eveline. And more.

The fever started at some point during the night of the haircut, and with nobody to take care of her, Zoe suffered alone.

There was pain, searing at her joints, tearing at her innards, twisting her body on the sweat stained mattress.  She didn't know if she cried out or not, lying there in the darkness, but it was possible that she had.

The night stretched endlessly, her temperature dropping and rising in turn.

She was thirsty, her throat parched, her tongue swollen, but she didn't have the strength to get out of bed and fetch water.

She managed to snatch fragments of sleep, waking at some point to see dawn’s pale light seeping through her curtains, before falling into troubled dreams once more.

 

Something wet touched her cracked lips, and she twitched her head.

“It's ok, Zoe. It's just water. It's clean.”

She fluttered open her eyes. Lucas was leaning over her, a glass of water tilted to her mouth.

He looked exhausted, dark crescents under his eyes, but he was patient with her, lifting her head from the pillow so she could sip.

“Sorry ‘bout last night. I told you - it's stronger at night. I weren't too rough with you, was I?”

His face was troubled, the memories faint enough for him to worry.

Zoe managed to shake her head. He hadn't been exactly kind, but compared to the brutality of her father and the disinterest of her mother, his casual care had been the closest thing to compassion she'd experienced, and she didn't see the point in upsetting him over things he couldn't help.

“Well, I can't do much for ya, an’ you can pretty much forgot about it when it gets dark, but for now at least I can get ya water. Drink up.”

 

For the next few days, Zoe couldn't leave her bed.

At night, the pain ruled, wracking her body with cramps, and beleaguering her with distorted nightmares. During the day, Lucas did his best to look after her, but unfortunately his best only consisted of bringing her water whenever he remembered. Sometimes he stayed with her, chatting about inconsequential things, but as the days progressed his ramblings became more and more nonsensical. His mind wandered further and further, and sometimes the tales he told her were tinged with depravity, but ill as she was she could tell he was trying to hold it together, and she was grateful for his company. It made her feel slightly less alone.

 

Her body was at war with the mold - she understood this on some level, even as her mind spiralled with delirium. Against all odds, the sickness was reassuring to her. It meant she was rejecting the poisonous influence the mold had on her. She just hoped she was strong enough to survive the process.

In the meantime, Lucas’s behaviour became more and more erratic. He still brought her water, as though some part of him had been programmed in advance to take care of her, but while sometimes he fed it to her with his eyes far away, at other times he stared at her so intently she became uncomfortable, realising how vulnerable she was in this house full of insanity, too weak to defend herself.

 

Lucas was singing, his terrible voice too loud at first, then so quiet she could barely hear it. Somewhere along the line she realised it was “Down With the Sickness” by Disturbed. He'd always liked it, but now the way he sang it gave the words a whole new meaning. He recited it as if by rote, over and over until she wished he'd just leave, but halfway through the fifth recital he stopped dead, and silence reigned.

Zoe turned her head with difficulty. Her brother was sitting, staring at the wall.

“Lucas?” she croaked. “You ok?”

“It's nearly got me,” he said in a faraway voice. “Nearly.”

“How do you know?”

“Like, part o’ me wants to bring you water, an’ look after ya, but another part o’ thinks it'd be real funny to break the glass an’ make ya eat it.”

Zoe must have made some kind of noise, as Lucas appeared to snap out of his partial trance and look at her.

“Oh, that part’s just small. For now. But I can feel it in there.” He lifted his hand, wiggling his fingers by his temple. “It's kind o’ nigglin’ at me.”

He sighed.

“I really hope you get better soon, Zoe. ‘fore that nasty part breaks free…..”

 

Zoe woke up, her head clear for the first time in days. She was weak, and hungry, and thirsty, but the fever had gone. The pain had gone. She lay in bed for a while, the sheets twisted around her legs. The bed smelled rank and filthy, as did her body. She looked down at herself.

She'd never put her clothes on - they still lay where she'd left them to dry - and against the paleness of her skin her ribs stood out prominently, her hip bones two sharp ridges.

Her bedroom door started to open, and Zoe hastily snatched the covers up under her chin. Lucas wandered in, clumsy, the glass he held slopping water over his hand.

He stared at her with red rimmed eyes.

“You ok now?” he asked eventually.

“I think so,” she said.

He staggered over to her, that weird look on his face again. She could see his fingers tightening on the glass, his nails going white from the pressure, and she remembered what he'd said about breaking the glass and making her eat it. She cringed against her pillow.

He stood, poised, his body twitching, water dripping onto her sheets, and in a convulsive motion suddenly flung the contents of the glass into her face. She jerked at the coldness, but kept her mouth firmly shut, only a muffled squeak emerging.

Lucas let out a big sigh, setting the glass on her nightstand with a shaking hand.

“Sorry, Zoe. Coulda been worse. I better go though. I'm glad yer better, Zoe.”

 

The mold had spread even more. It crawled along the bottom of the walls, starting to climb like the kudzu over the greenhouse. There were bugs too, cockroaches scuttling out of sight as she staggered through the halls. Zoe shuddered as one of them ran over her foot.

She didn't know how many days she'd lain in bed, fighting the effects of the mold, but it had continued to conquer the house in her absence.

Her mother was in the dining room, her eyes far away as she watched centipedes clamber up the table legs. She was smiling proudly, like a mother watching a baby's first steps.

“Ew, Momma! What are all these bugs doin’ in here?”

Zoe wanted to sit down, her legs shaking underneath her, but she didn't want the bugs for company.

Marguerite laughed.

“Aren't they precious? In all my time on this earth, I never realised how smart a humble bug could be. Watch this….”

Marguerite placed her hand on the edge of the table, and made a kissing sound with her lips.

“Come here, my babies!” she sang out. “Come to Momma, my pretty darlin’s!”

The centipedes swarmed, scuttling in an almost elegant arrow-like formation towards her mother. Zoe watched in horror as they bridged the gap between Marguerite and the table using her arm, running up it and scrambling over her, winding round her in a spiral.

Marguerite laughed in delight.

“Ooh! They tickle!”

She started to giggle, squirming as they circled her waist and her chest, undulating over the swell of her breasts, never still.

Zoe wanted to scream at the sight of the ugly things covering her mother, but something told her it wouldn't be wise. One of the centipedes, the largest one, perched on her shoulder, raising its upper body, swaying back and forth, its dozens of little legs waving. Zoe felt like it was staring at her.

Marguerite tilted her head, rubbing her cheek affectionately against the creatures shiny carapace.

“This one's my favourite,” she confided. “He's special. I think he needs a name, don't you? Now, what should I call ‘im?”

“Uh, how ‘bout Elmer?” suggested Zoe, revulsion twisting her empty stomach.

“Oh, no! That's a stupid name. He don't look like an Elmer. I'm gonna call ‘im…..Robert. Yeah. Robert’s a good name…..”

Marguerite wandered off, crooning to Robert the centipede.

Zoe collapsed onto a chair, only just making it before her legs gave way.

She could scarcely believe what she'd just witnessed.

 

Eveline came in carrying a handful of reed dolls.

“Look what I made, Zoe!” she said proudly, holding them out.

“That's great, Eveline,” said Zoe without much enthusiasm. “Who taught you to make those?”

“You did,” said Eveline, tapping her temple with a finger. “It's all in your head. I just took it out.”

She arranged the dolls on the table.

“You're feeling better now.”

It wasn't a question, but Zoe nodded anyway. She'd managed to scavenge a can of spaghetti from the pantry and it had restored some of her strength, although her shrivelled stomach hadn't been able to manage much.

“You nearly died,” Eveline told her.

She didn't appear upset by the possibility. Zoe didn't know how to reply.

“If Lucas hadn't brought you water, you would have died. It was his idea to bring you water, but I let him do it.”

Eveline looked at her.

“You should thank me.”

“Thank you, Eveline.”

The words nearly choked her, but Zoe didn't have the energy for an altercation.

Eveline nodded, if not happy then at least satisfied.

“I almost didn't let him,” she confessed. “I thought it would be easier to let you die. You're kind of a pain. And we don't need another daughter. But….”

She shrugged.

“I think it might be nice to have a sister. We can do girl things. And you know neat stuff, like how to make these dolls. So I'll keep you, if you don't make trouble.”

She eyed Zoe.

“Are you going to make trouble, Zoe? Or are you going to be good?”

Zoe licked her dry lips. The way the child was looking at her, like she could see right into her soul, was making her feel uncomfortable.

“I'll be good, Eveline.”

“Good.”

Eveline picked up one of the dolls, making it walk across the table to her. She wiggled it in front of Zoe, and when she spoke next it was in a high-pitched voice. Zoe realised the doll was meant to be speaking.

“Because if you're not, then….Argh!”

Eveline ripped the head off the doll and gave her a pointed look.

“I'll be good,” muttered Zoe again.

“Yes. You will.”

 

To Zoe’s surprise, Eveline didn't insist that she join the family meal. Instead, she was allowed to rest on the couch while they ate. She wondered if it was because more of the mold would kill her, or if Evie had decided not to infect her further. She could just imagine the child revelling in her torment as Zoe watched her family sink further and further under whilst she remained lucid and aware.

Whatever the reason, it was a relief not to have to eat whatever crap her mother had served up.

“Fresh meat!” said Marguerite, looking pleased. “It's so nice to cook somethin’ that ain't been frozen.”

“It looks real good, honey,” said Jack, against all evidence to the contrary.

“Well we have Lucas to thank for it,” said Marguerite, regarding her son proudly. “Hunted an’ killed it hisself, he did.”

“Round of applause for Lucas!” cheered Eveline, and everybody around the table clapped.

Lucas grinned, looking pleased with himself.

Jack descended on the platter of steaming meat, a huge knife clutched in his hand. He began to carve ragged slices of whatever it was, dumping the pieces on the plates. He did it with the same air of ceremony as when he carved the Thanksgiving turkey.

“Ain't had gator in a while,” Jack remarked, ripping off a portion that looked like a leg.

“I can't believe you killed a gator, Lucas,” said Eveline. “Was it hard?”

“Naw,” said Lucas modestly. “Weren't no challenge. Even though I did do it with ma bare hands…..”

There was a certain amount of swagger in his statement, and for a moment Zoe believed Jack looked jealous.

“I coulda done, if I hadn't been so damn busy,” he muttered. “Woulda done it like in my old noodlin’ days - stuck my hand in its mouth and hoisted it out that way. But you youngsters are too vain about little things like hands…….”

“Hey!” said Lucas. “These are the hands o’ a skilled craftsman! Ain't no clumsy, sausage-finger lumps like yours. Don't want ‘em endin’ up in a gator's guts when I got work to do with ‘em.”

He held up one of his hands, examining his long, almost delicate fingers proudly.

“Is that right, now?” said Jack dangerously.

“Uh-huh. Yours may be good for smashin’ an’ bashin’, but I got a  _ surgeon’s _ hands.”

Lucas sat back in his seat, looking smug as he reached for a slice of meat from the platter.

It happened so fast Zoe couldn't believe it. Jack seized Lucas’s wrist, pinning his hand to the table and bringing the carving knife down just below the elbow. Lucas struggled briefly, his eyes wide, but his father held the arm in place easily, using brawn as well as the sharpness of the blade to part skin and muscle and crunch through the bone. A spray of blood spattered over the table.

Lucas pulled away, cursing, leaving his forearm in his father's grasp.

“Holy shit, dad! You didn't have to fuckin’ do that!”

With a jerk, Jack tossed the arm aside, the wet end brushing briefly against Mia, making her flinch. It landed on the floor, skidding across the boards, leaving a red trail behind it.

Zoe put both hands over her mouth to choke down her scream. Out of all of them, she was the only one even slightly alarmed.

“Now, now, boys,” said Marguerite. “Enough o’ your fightin’! I worked hard to prepare this meal, an’ I won't have your bickerin’ spoilin’ it!”

Jack patted her hand.

“Aw, I'm sorry Marguerite. Don't think we don't ‘ppreciate everythin’ you do….”

He looked pointedly at his son.

“Sorry, Momma,” said Lucas. “It looks real tasty.”

“Well, let's all just settle down an’ enjoy it,” said Marguerite, mollified.

Jack skewered a piece of meat on his his bloody knife and stuck it in his mouth, chewing noisily.

“I want my arm back,” whined Lucas. “I can't eat one-handed.”

“Remember your manners, boy,” warned Jack.

Lucas sighed.

“Please may I have my arm back?” he said, his grudging tone only slightly obvious.

“Go on then, son,” said Jack.

Muttering, Lucas fetched his arm, turning it over, examining it. He brushed a speck of dust from the knuckles pointedly.

“There's some o’ that there goop in the garage,” said Jack.

“Ok. Imma go stick this back on. Make sure you save some for me!  I done killed it, after all……”

Lucas left the room carrying his arm. Everyone else carried on eating.

Zoe sank back on the couch, feeling faint. Everything, from the sudden, perfunctory violence of her father to the apathy of the rest of them witnessing, made the entire scene surreal. Even Lucas acted as though it were a mere irritation.

Eveline was chatting in an animated fashion, Jack and Marguerite hanging onto every word.

“After this, I'm going to take Zoe over to see my new room,” she said.

“That's nice, honey,” said Jack, his voice brimming over with sweetness.

“And we're going to play dolls!”

“Aw! Lovely…..”

“Because Zoe said she's going to behave from now on and play with me whenever I want.”

“Quite right too!”

On the couch, Zoe clenched her fists.

Lucas reappeared, his arm back in place. Perhaps unwisely, he chose to use the restored hand to flip his father off behind his back, though luckily Jack didn't see.

Her brother set to devouring the gator meat ravenously, picking it up with both hands and tearing hunks off with his teeth. There was something primal in the way he ate, hunched over and defensive.

Eveline finished nibbling a scrap of meat and wiped her fingers fastidiously.

“I'm going to my room now. Come on, Zoe.”

Zoe heaved herself off the couch wearily.

 

The room was dark and damp and dirty, but Eveline showed it off as though it were a fairytale palace.

There were toys and games scattered throughout, a shelf with books on, and a large bed placed ceremoniously in the centre of the floor. Zoe had to suppress a cry of dismay when she saw the dollhouse Lucas had made for her when she was little on a table in the corner.

“Isn't it great?” enthused Eveline. “I've got this whole floor all to myself! Daddy Jack said so.”

Zoe had noticed that Evie had already begun to imprint her personality on the place, with one room being slowly consumed by the mold and disquieting, black crayon drawings pinned over the walls. One such picture portrayed what Zoe presumed was the ship Eveline had arrived on, broken in half, spilling people into the sea whilst the storm raged in the background.

Zoe wondered how much Eveline had contributed to the demise of those people.

“So are you going to live over here now?” asked Zoe hopefully.

It was a nice long way from the main house.

“No, this is just somewhere I can come if I want to be on my own,” said Eveline. “You can only come over here if I say so. I need my privacy.”

She dug in a box and produced a board game.

“I changed my mind. I don't wanna play dolls - let's play this instead! I'm good at games. I  _ always  _ win…..”

“I bet you you do.”

 

Being on good terms with Eveline was tiring. Zoe had to be available for the child at her whim, no matter what the time of day or night. Zoe played with mangled, naked baby dolls, grimed with mold; drew pictures; had makeovers. Anything Eveline perceived as “girl stuff”, Zoe was her go-to playmate. For other, more robust games, she had Lucas.

Zoe had no idea what Lucas and Eveline did together, but it involved disappearing for long periods of time and returning covered in mud and sometimes blood. From the light in his eyes, Lucas seemed to enjoy these outings.

When she wasn't at Eveline’s beck and call, Zoe tried to rest and avoid her parents. They didn't seem to sleep much anymore, and Marguerite was becoming more and more involved with her bugs, spending much of her time at the old, flooded house, surrounded by outsized flying insects.

With Lucas’s help, Jack took to crafting bizarre tools that looked more like medieval weapons of war - a huge shovel with a sharpened blade; some kind of roller device with nails sticking out of it; and of course, the double bladed chainsaw. 

Her family became more and more isolated, rarely leaving the house.

One day, whilst bored, Zoe found a drawer stuffed with mail, so full it was all but jammed shut. She managed to get it open and sifted through the stacked letters and bills. None of them had been opened.

She found one addressed to Lucas in a feminine hand, and an official looking one with her mother's name. Marguerite hardly ever got mail: Jack dealt with the household bills.

Curious, Zoe stuffed both letters up her blouse and hurried upstairs.

 

She opened the one to Lucas first, feeling only slightly guilty. She justified her actions by reminding herself that he used to read her diary.

The contents of the letter broke her heart. It was from Rosalie Saunders - or Rosalie Mcdonald, as she was now.

 

_ Dear Lucas, _

_ It's been a long time. Far too long! It's all my fault. I've been going through a rough time recently. _

_ You probably know I got married a while back - I think I wrote and told you? - but that's all over now. Bryce turned out to be a no-good lying snake who was having an affair with my “best friend”. He'd been cheating on me from the start - even messaged that b@#$h whilst we were on our honeymoon. _

_ Anyways, I doubt you want to hear all about that. But I thought I'd write to you, because I've been thinking about you a lot lately. Thinking about the time I spent at your guest house that summer. Do you remember? God, I hope so! That was one of the happiest times of my life. _

_ I know we were just kids, and it seems silly to be so nostalgic about what was less than two weeks, but…. _

_ Oh, dang it. I'm gonna say it: I truly believe you were my first love. _

_ There. _

_ I'm sorry if I'm being sentimental, really, but I can't stop thinking about you. Remember that day in the swamp, when you kissed me for the first time? You were so sweet. And the snake? I bet you remember that snake! You saved me. Ripped it right off the tree, even though it bit you. You could have died! And your daddy, thinking you'd hurt me…..Hmph. _

_ Anyways, I'm all grown up now - heehee - and I've been thinking about that kiss lately. And as I'm an adult now, I've been thinking about a lot more besides…. _

_ I know you're probably not interested, and as you're such a catch, I bet you have a girlfriend or are married yourself by now. But if not, I was wondering if maybe we could meet up? _

_ Catch up, talk about old times. Maybe more, if you want…...I saw a photo of you on Zoe’s facebook - yeah, I was stalking you! - and you've become a very handsome man, so I would definitely be interested in more, if you know what I mean. _

_ God, I'm such a slut! I'm sorry if this is making you uncomfortable. Truly I am. But you've been haunting my dreams of late and it's driving me crazy….. _

_ Sigh. I guess I'd better stop making a fool of myself. My return address and my number are on this letter, so if you're interested, contact me. If you don't, I'll understand. _

 

_ Lots of love (and kisses!) _

_ Rosalie. _

 

There was a printed photo enclosed. Rosalie as a woman was still a little on the plump side, but even Zoe had to admit she was a knock out with her long golden hair and her ample curves. She was showing off a fair amount of cleavage, too, and Zoe was willing to bet she could smother a man with those things.

Poor Rosalie. Poor Lucas.

Sighing, Zoe stashed the letter under her mattress and opened the other one.

 

_ Dear Mrs. Baker, _ __  
__  
_ How have you been feeling recently? It's been a long time since you came in for your last check-up. _ __  
__  
_ I'm writing to tell you that I've finished examining your X-rays. Those dark areas in your cranium are fungus-like structures that seem to be related to mold. _ __  
__  
_ The hallucinations and noises you said you've been hearing may be released to these growths. _ __  
__  
__  
_ If your symptoms are due to a fungal parasite, it must be removed before it's too late. I don't mean to scare you, but I am seriously concerned for your health. _ __  
__  
_ Please come to the hospital as soon as you read this letter. As your doctor, I strongly recommend you undergo further tests. _ __  
__  
_ Crawford Lang, _ _  
_ __ Dulvey General Hospital

 

Shit. A fungal parasite? What even was that?

The letter joined Rosalie’s under the mattress. It was irrelevant now. Her mother was beyond help.

The letters could stay there until she could find somewhere else to put them.

 

Jack and Lucas were arguing again. In many ways, it was like the days before the storm, but now it was worse in that their arguments were far more likely to end in violence - and they often did.

They were pretty well matched, Jack with his brute strength and Lucas with his sneaky speed, but the pair of them were so stubborn the fights didn't end until either Eveline intervened or one of them lay broken on the floor. The sound of their raised voices and explosive scuffles became a regular background noise in the Baker household, but Zoe never got used to it. Even knowing that any broken bones would mend and wounds heal, it still distressed her to see them hurting each other.

Eveline rarely bothered to intervene, even when Zoe begged her.

“They have to work out their differences,” said the girl. “It's nature. I know, because I watched a documentary with Mommy, and it showed male chimpanzees fighting to see who would be the leader. There's a word for the leader….Something like alphabet?”

“Alpha,” said Zoe.

“That's it! There's always an alpha, but when they get older the younger ones fight them, because  _ they _ want to be the alpha. And even if they don't win, they keep trying, because one day the alpha will be too old, and then  _ boom! _ The younger one wins, and then they become the alpha. That's all Jack and Lucas are doing. Leave them to it. Now - it's your turn to throw the dice. Be careful - you're really near a snake…..”

Zoe threw the dice. It was a six, which would have put her at the bottom of a very long ladder, but Marguerite Baker hadn't raised a fool. Zoe hastily knocked the dice off the table trying to pick it up.

“What did you get?” asked Eveline as Zoe picked it up from the floor.

“A two,” said Zoe, pretending to be miserable as she held the dice toward Eveline, two spots showing.

Eveline clapped her hands in delight.

“Down the snake for you!” she giggled. “It's a python, too - I bet it will choke you to death!”

There was a crash from the hall, and Lucas came flying in backwards, crashing into the table. His chest was a mass of blood, and torn, ragged wounds.

“C’mon, boy! That all you got?” bellowed Jack from the hall, laughing heartily.

Lucas collapsed onto the floor, his head knocking against the table on the way down.

“Lucas!”

Zoe knew the way this went, had seen it often enough, but she was unable to stop herself from going to her brother. The wounds were already healing, his head rolling on his neck as he struggled to get up. Jack barged into the room, holding one of his monstrous tools - the one with all the nails.

“What's the matter? Can't take an old man?”

“Daddy, stop! He's had enough!”

“No I ain't,” mumbled Lucas woozily, coughing up a clotted mess of black blood. “I can take ‘im! Fuckin’ coward, can't fight without a weapon to back ‘im up….”

“Oh yeah? We'll see about that!”

Jack tossed his weapon aside. It hit the wall, knocking out a chunk of plaster.

Her father hunched over into a fighting stance, his fists bunched, his eyes dancing crazily behind the lenses of his glasses.

“Come an’ get me then, son, if you're man enough!”

Lucas was on his feet in an instant, kicking Jack in the stomach, sending him reeling backwards.

“Fuck you!” yelled her brother, using Jack’s momentary loss of balance to press his advantage. He hurled himself forward, knotting his hands together and swinging them at the side of his father's head full force. Jack’s neck cracked with a loud report, his head falling sideways onto his shoulder, and he staggered.

“Yeah, that's right!” hooted Lucas. “Ain't so tough now!”

Jack grabbed his own head, one hand either side, and forced it upright, the shattered bones in his neck grinding and crackling. He grinned at Lucas with blood smeared teeth.

“Just a scratch,” he taunted. “But then what could I expect from a whining little manchild like yourself?”

Lucas snarled and darted forward, but Jack dodged to the side, grabbing the back of his neck in one massive hand.

“Now I gotta teach you a  _ lesson, _ ” said Jack, driving Lucas face first into the wall.

He snatched him back. The plaster was cracked and smeared with blood. Lucas flailed in Jack’s grasp.

“I gotta  _ teach  _ you,” he continued, smashing him into the wall again. “That you don't take on a  _ man -  _ “ Smash! “ - when you're just a  _ boy! _ ” Smash! “Especially if you're just a  _ pathetic. Little. Virgin! _ ” Smash! Smash! Smash!

Jack released him, and Lucas slumped onto the floor. Blood pooled in a spreading puddle where Lucas’s face should have been, and the wall had a large, gory dent in it.

Zoe had shrunk into a corner, her hands over her face, near hysteria.

Jack stomped over to her, yanking her to her feet.

“When will you learn to mind your own business, child?” he yelled. “Don't you tell me how to raise my son!”

There was an explosion of pain around the side of Zoe’s head as her father slapped her, and stars danced in her vision, tiny points of light flickering in her eyes. He shook her like a dog with a toy, her teeth clattering together.

“I had enough o’ your attitude, young lady! You refuse to eat with us, you laze around doin’ nothin’, an’ now you gotta interfere in my discipline! It ends now, you hear me?”

Another slap connected with the other side of her face, making her ears ring. She sagged limply in her father's grasp.

“Damn kids,” growled Jack, dropping her. “Full o’ disrespect…..”

He wandered off, leaving his children on the floor.

Lucas was up first. He walked over to where Zoe sobbed in a ball, curled up by the table. His face was still flat looking, blood trickling down it onto his chest.

“You shouldn't o’ got involved, Zoe,” he said, grabbing his nose between his fingers and thumb and pulling it back into place with a popping noise. “You ain't as resilient. An’ you only made the old man madder.”

He snorted, spitting a wad of blood onto the floor.

“I'm gonna get him back, you wait ‘n’ see. He got no right to be saying them things to me.”

Lucas strode moodily away.

Eveline leaned over, peering under the edge of the table.

“It's your turn, Zoe.”

She shook the dice in her hand. Trembling, Zoe pulled herself up off the floor, lowering herself into her chair and taking the dice from Eveline.

“I'm going to win again!” said Eveline, clapping her hands with glee.

 

After much heart searching, Zoe showed Lucas the letter from Rosalie.

He'd sounded more hurt by Jack’s insults than he had from the beating he'd received, and she wanted to give him a boost. Also, somewhere deep down she hoped that Rosalie’s heartfelt admission would affect Lucas, maybe give him the incentive to fight against Eveline somehow, but when he saw it he regarded it without interest, scanning a few lines before crumpling up and tossing it aside.

He kept the photo, though, examining it with raised eyebrows before smiling, a broad lascivious grin.

“Now  _ this  _ I can use…..” he said, and hurried off to his attic room.

Zoe retrieved the letter, smoothing out the crumples. Maybe it was for the best. She didn't want to imagine what would happen to Rosalie if Lucas contacted her now. She put the letter away again.

 

Zoe found a notebook, filled with her mother's scribbles. The first part reported their day-to-day lives before the storm, interspersed with recipes and her thoughts on various current events, but the last few pages recounted more sinister events.

 

_ October 15 _ __  
_ I'm seeing things, hearing things, can't stop feeling nauseous. I went to see the doctor in town and he gave me an X-ray. What's happening to me? _ __  
__  
__  
_ October 23 _ __  
_ The child gave me a present. _ __  
__  
__  
_ October- _ __  
_ I put the present in the secret room right at the back of the second floor, where nobody will find it. _ __  
_ That arm is a sign of the child's trust. That arm will lead us to happiness. _ _  
_ __ And anyone who corrupts that happiness... I won't allow them to live.

 

The arm? Eveline had given her mother an arm? Why?

Zoe sought out Mia. She'd moved from the trailer into the house at Marguerite’s insistence, and she showed the woman her mother's notebook.

“We got a head,” said Zoe. “But you said we needed somethin’ else. Would it be an arm?”

Mia shrugged, but Zoe saw a faint spark of hope in her eyes.

“It might be….I mean, the peripheral nerve…..maybe……” She looked at Zoe. “I think we do need the arm.”

“In that case, I need to get up to the second floor of the old house,” said Zoe decisively. “We make that serum, and we should be able to escape without Eveline killin’ us, right?”

“In theory, yes. But I don't know how much we'd be able to synthesize from the small samples we have.”

“We only need enough for four….” mused Zoe.

“Five,” corrected Mia,  holding her gaze.

Zoe snorted.

“Don't see why we should help you. We wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for you an’ the company you work for.”

“If you don't help me, I won't tell you how to make it,” said Mia.

The two women stared at each other, neither willing to back down. Eventually, Zoe sighed.

“Ok, ok! Five serums.”

“We'd have to be fast, though. In the studies we ran, it only worked if the infection wasn't too far gone.”

“Why? What happens if it's too far gone?”

“Death,” said Mia simply. “Once the mold takes over, it spreads till you become dependant on it. Replaces all your body parts with itself. Take the mold away, and the body can't survive without it.”

Zoe looked at the small notebook in her hands. Her mother's handwriting had become a scrawl near the end of the book, and there were a couple of entries after the one about the arm that were completely illegible. She wondered how much of her family was left.

“Well, either way - I think I'd rather them be dead than the monsters they're becoming.”

She snapped the book closed.

“I'm gonna go put this back where I found it. Can you keep Eveline occupied while I go look for this secret room?”

Mia nodded.

“Good luck,” she said.

“Yeah. Reckon I'm gonna need it.”

 

The old house had suffered a lot during the storm. When she'd come here with Eveline, Zoe hadn't had much chance to explore or even notice the extent of the damage, but coming here alone, aware of every creak and groan, she could see how bad it had gotten.

A huge chunk of the first floor had caved in, exposing the swamp underneath, jagged edges sticking out like teeth. To get to the stairs, Zoe had to take a roundabout route to the other side.

The air was damp and humid, the mold dappling the walls, and bugs crawled over every surface. Feeling silly, but doing it anyway, Zoe kept an eye out for Robert, Momma’s special centipede.

The constant drip of water was a pervading backdrop, and after only five minutes there, Zoe was feeling the need to pee. Carefully, she made her way through the dim corridors, pausing at every squeak of floorboards.

She got to the other side without incident, though it had been surprisingly difficult with place all gone to shit. She only vaguely remembered the layout of the rooms, and it was so decrepit many areas weren't easily recognisable.

There was a short flight of stairs leading up to the second floor, and Zoe climbed them quickly.

A dim light shone from the end of the upstairs corridor, moths casting fluttering shadows. Zoe peered round the door cautiously. There was a lantern suspended by one of the doors, giving off a yellow glow.

Creeping as best she could, Zoe opened the door that led to Eveline’s area.

“Zoe?”

A harsh voice behind her, barely recognisable as her mother's, made her turn in panic.

“Oh, there you are, Momma!” she said, thinking quickly. “I was looking for you.”

“Oh, really?” said Marguerite skeptically. “Well, ya found me!”

Her mother walked towards her, her gait shuffling and slightly bent over. Zoe regarded her uneasily.

“Are you ok, Momma?” she asked.

“I never felt better. What, you think I'm sick? You think that means you can take advantage of me? Well, you're wrong! I know what you're up to girl - pokin’ your nose where it don't belong!”

Her mother's voice, usually a musical lilt that was pleasant to the ear, grated now. It had deepened by a couple of octaves, and rasped as though her throat was sore.

“No, you got it wrong, Momma…..”

“Have I? Oh, well, that's ok then! Zoe says I got it wrong! Zoe is allllways right!”

Her mother's throat was swelling, her Adam's apple pushing outwards. There was a squelching, gargling noise, and Robert the centipede burst from between her lips, shiny with spit.

“Momma!” Zoe staggered backwards, her disgust greater than her fear.

Robert waved before her mother's face, the top half of its body swaying back and forth, legs wiggling.

Marguerite shot her head forward, and in a panic of revulsion, Zoe swiped at the massive centipede. She couldn't bear the thought of the monstrous insect touching her.

Robert curled up, and dived back down Marguerite’s throat. She made a gulping sound, swallowing, her face twisted with rage.

“How  _ dare _ you?” she shrieked. “How dare you try an’ hurt my baby. You nasty little bitch! Well, I'll show you, missy!”

Grabbing the hem of her skirt with both hands, Marguerite lifted it up.

Zoe stared in confusion. There was something between her mother's legs, something grey and bulging that pulsated.

“Let's see how you like  _ this!” _

There was a buzzing, deep and angry, of many pairs of small wings beating at once. A flurry of insects, tiny but with outsized stingers dripping venom, burst from Marguerite’s crotch. Zoe screamed as they flew towards her in a dense cloud. They looked like small bees - bastardised version of the insects, as though they'd been bred with something alien and vicious.

“No, Momma!”

Zoe threw herself backwards through the door slamming it closed behind her. Some of the bugs got caught between the door and the jamb, exploding as she shut it, a yellow pus-like substance squirting from them. She heard the things hitting the other side of the door, slight taps that became a steady battering as their numbers increased.

Zoe didn't know if they were actually a form of bee, or if their poison would have the same effect on her as a bee sting, but she couldn't risk taking any chances. One sting, and it was possible she’d die.

Zoe ran, stumbling through the dark rooms, crashing into junk.

She heard the door open at her back, and the buzzing swelled as the bugs rushed through.

“Get back here, Zoe, an’ take your medicine!” screeched her mother. “I know what you're up to, girl! You wanna take the gift away from us all!  _ But it ain't yours to return, you vile little whore!” _

The things descended over her, clinging to her face and her ams and her bare neck. She felt stings, agonising prickles that hurt far more than she'd ever expected, multitudes of them over every available inch of flesh. She fell to the ground, thrashing her arms, screaming as more of them poured over her. They squashed beneath her, but the dead ones were quickly replaced by others. Several crawled into her mouth, stinging the delicate skin in there, and she bit down, nearly going out of her mind with pain and terror. A vile taste filled her mouth as she crushed them between her teeth.

She vomited, bits of bugs falling from her mouth, but even as she did so, she felt the inside of her throat swelling, closing up. Some of them lighted on her eyes, stinging the lids, blinding her. She struggled to breath, unable to scream any more, her conciousness fading.

 

When she came to, she was lying outside. She squinted through puffy lids. Lucas stood over her, poking her with the toe of his sneaker.

“Hey, yer alive! How ‘bout that. Thought you was a goner.” He giggled. “You sure look funny, Zoe.”

She tried to speak, drool running from her swollen lips. Lucas shook his head.

“Can't understand ya. Nope. Guess you messed with Momma’s little friends.” He poked her again. “Eveline sent me to bring you in. An’ she said to tell ya ‘It serves you right.’ What you been doin’, Zoe? Aw, that's right - ya can't talk. Oh well. Let's get you inside.”

He leaned down and siezed her wrist. Through the slits in her vision, she could see that her flesh was pale blue and huge, as though she'd been inflated with a bicycle pump. Lucas’s fingers sank into it, almost disappearing. There were large red bumps covering her, the centres red and weeping fluid, the outsides blackened and necrotic. Judging by the pain in her body, the rest of her was in the same condition. Her jeans were too tight, the waistband cutting into her middle, the fabric stretched over her thighs, encasing her like a sausage skin.

Lucas began to drag her across the ground, twigs and stones biting into her, scraping her sensitive skin.

 

It took her several days to heal fully. The bites became septic scabs that itched endlessly and exuded green pus when she scratched them.

Eveline visited her in her room, reading stories to her in a monotonous voice, making a big display of pretending to care. Once Zoe was able to move her fingers, Eveline brought board games and jigsaw puzzles in. She painted Zoe’s nails fuschia, the pretty decoration looking ridiculous on her fat fingers.

Zoe lay there, scarred and helpless, and thought endlessly of how she could get to the arm in the secret room.


	11. Indignity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eveline wants to extend the family, but the way she wants to do it causes both Zoe and Lucas to revolt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agonised for a long time over whether to include this chapter, but with the help of DarthFucamus I think I managed to make it just about tasteful enough for publication.
> 
> Warning: It's edgy, taboo, and disturbing. But please believe me when I say it's not a cheap shot at shock-value. I took this very seriously.

Zoe had been drifting off, utterly exhausted, when Eveline appeared at her side.

“Zoe!”

She snapped awake, groaning. Since she'd recovered from the insect attack the little bitch hadn't let her rest for 2 days, constantly popping up to prattle away at her whenever she got bored. Zoe could barely think straight, and she'd thought she'd be able to snatch a nap when she'd seen Lucas stumbling around with Eveline on his shoulders half an hour before.

The child had been cackling delightedly, steering her brother like he was some sort of marionette, spurring him on with her booted heels drumming against his chest.

“What is it, Evie?” she moaned.

“I've been thinking……” began Eveline, and Zoe sighed. Another of her fucking crackpot ideas. They were apparently endless. “We need a bigger family.”

For a second, Zoe thought about picking up the lamp beside the bed and cracking the little cunt’s head open. Her fists clenched convulsively under her sheet. Eveline had pretty much destroyed Zoe’s family in a matter of weeks, stripping away whatever bonds they'd had and molding them to be her own personal zombie puppets, and it  _ still _ wasn't enough _? _

She forced herself to calm, knowing how much Eveline could pick up from her thoughts if she wasn't careful.

“And how are we gonna do that, Eveline?” she asked as pleasantly as she could, though her voice sounded dead and dull in her own ears.

“I found some videotapes in Lucas’s room that showed me how we could do it,” said Eveline brightly.

Zoe fought through the weary soup of her mind, trying to imagine what Evie could have seen that could had prompted her latest whim. The only thing she could think of at that moment was The Hills Have Eyes. Did she want them to ambush people and kidnap them or something?

Evie grabbed her arm, jiggling it excitedly.

“You and Lucas can make babies!”

Zoe’s stomach lurched, her mind waking up as though it had been doused with a bucket of cold water.

“No, Eveline!” she exclaimed in horror. “We can't do that!”

“Yes you can,” said Eveline. “I saw how they do it! I found some videos and Lucas told me that's how babies were made! It looked gross, but Lucas said all adults do it…..”

Zoe felt that nauseating sensation of squirming behind her eyes that meant Evie was delving into her mind, and for a couple of seconds she was bombarded with images from Lucas’s “secret” stash of porn: A woman tied face down over some sort of vaulting horse while she was fucked viciously from behind.

“Eveline!”

Zoe clutched at her head, struggling to push the girl out of her brain and slam the door behind her, but Eveline laughed, replacing the straining bodies she envisioned with those of Zoe and her brother.

“No!” 

Zoe made a more determined effort, shutting down that private movie screen with a shudder of revulsion.

Eveline was pouting.

“Why not?”

“Because it ain't right, Evie,” said Zoe, still reeling from the shock. “Brothers and sisters don't do that.”

“Why not? You're adults.”

“But we're  _ related _ …..”

“So are Jack and Marguerite. And they had babies.”

“Yeah, but they're related by marriage. That's a different sort of related.”

The girl glared at her. Eveline didn't like being thwarted, and even sound reasoning was rarely enough to dissuade her.

“I could make you…..” she threatened.

“No, Eveline…..” Zoe shook her head. “You're young, you don't understand how wrong it is.”

“But it has to be you and Lucas!” she wailed. “Jack and Marguerite are too old to make babies! Momma-Bear is all dried up.”

Zoe winced at the imagery.

“What about Mia?” she suggested, feeling guilty for only a moment. Mia had brought all this trouble on their heads. Let her fuck Lucas.

“Mia’s married,” said Eveline primly. “A good marriage is based on loyalty.”

Zoe groaned. Bitch had been reading Marguerite’s magazines again.

“No,” she repeated firmly. “I won't do it. And neither will Lucas.”

“Hmph. We'll see about that.  _ Sister. _ ”

 

Zoe fell asleep, and for a wonder Eveline let her.

She dreamed of a day in the future, one where all this had never happened. She was married, to someone who looked a little like a cross between Justin Bieber and Dr Phil, if that was possible. They had kids: Dozens of them, it seemed, all with her delicate frame and black hair.

The dream narrative had brought her to this house with them to visit her family, and while her parents fussed over her extensive brood, one of her daughters ran off behind the house.

Zoe followed her through the weird yellow dreamlight to the yard out back where the old trailer was. Lucas was out there, chopping firewood, although that didn't explain why his axe was stained red.

“Uncle Lucas! Uncle Lucas!” squealed the little girl, running up to him.

Lucas turned, the axe blade held high, and for a moment Zoe felt a stab of apprehension before Lucas’s face broke into a grin. He buried the axe head in the soft earth next to him, sweeping the child up into the air.

“Tell me a story, Uncle Lucas!” demanded the child.

“Okay, I'll tell you a goddam story,” he said agreeably. “Once upon a fuckin’ time….”

Zoe laughed, leaning against the trailer to listen.

“.....there was a beautiful princess called Eveline.”

Zoe’s laugh froze in her throat. A cloud seemed to pass over the sun, throwing a cold shadow over the scene.

“And she was an only child. She really wanted a family, and she found one, but the sister was a fuckin’ bitch, an’ even though Princess Eveline wanted a bigger family - just like yours, with lots o’ brothers an’ sisters - Zoe wouldn't do it. And that made Eveline sad.”

“Lucas, stop it,” she said, her mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton.

But Lucas continued.

“Eveline wanted to punish Zoe, but she was a good princess, and she decided to give the selfish cunt a chance. After all, Zoe didn't have to do much, did she? Only let her brother do what them ladies in the tapes let the men do.  And who knows? She might enjoy it.…..”

Lucas trailed off, staring at Zoe with a predatory grin. Zoe shook her head, running forward to snatch her daughter away, but when the little girl turned around, she had Lucas’s icy blue eyes and hook nose.

 

Zoe awoke with a gasp, the horror of the dream still clutching her. She knew that Eveline had placed it in her head, but it made her feel sick that her own innocent dreamworld had been infiltrated by such fucked up ideas.

The worst thing had been the logic of it all: The casual notion of incest bandied about like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. Zoe shuddered, turning over in her bed.

Lucas was standing there, in the middle of her room, his hood pulled up. His face was in shadow, so she couldn't see his expression, but just the way he stood there as though poised for something was enough to drive a spike of terror through her guts.

“Lucas? What is it?”

There was a long delay before he answered, and when he did his words were slurred and clumsy, as though he'd had too many beers.

“I was menna be doon somethin’.....” he said with difficulty. “Wha’ was it, Zoeeee?”

“I don't know, Lucas,” replied Zoe carefully. “Is supper ready, maybe?”

“Dunno. Maybe.” 

Lucas swayed on his feet, like a sapling in a strong wind. He lurched forward a step and Zoe cringed down under her covers.

“Ma head feels funny,” he said, his hand rising to touch his temple. “Don't feel…..right. It  _ ain't  _ right, Zoe.”

He made a choked noise that could have been a sob.

“It ain't right…..I'm scared….”

“What’re you scared of, Lucas?”

“I'm scared of what she's gonna make me do,” he whispered.

“Don't do it then!” Even as she spoke, her eyes were darting around the room looking for a weapon.

“Dunno if ah c’n stop ‘er,” he sighed. “And there's a little bit o’ me…. _ just _ a little, tiny, itty bit, Zoeee….” He held out his hand, his first two fingers held millimetres apart as though he were pinching at something. “.... _ wants _ ta do it….”

He giggled, the sound too high-pitched.

“Anyways. Supper’s ready.” He turned and began to slouch from the room, his feet dragging. “Come ‘n’ get yer nice, hot sausage, Zoe…..hehehe….”

As the door closed behind him, Zoe sank back onto her bed, her entire body shaking.

Eveline had her claws deep in her brother, but it appeared there was enough of Lucas left to resist her.

Trying to support herself on uneasy legs, Zoe got out of bed and began to scrabble beneath it, looking amongst all the junk she'd stuffed under there. There was a whole bunch of stuff Lucas had made her over the years, stashed out of sight of her parents. She found the makeshift taser first, bundled into an old purse, then the brass knuckles with the spikes. There was a kosh, stuffed with sawdust and ball bearings and possibly a few rusty nails, and a short bladed knife with a serrated edge that fitted into a sheath she could hide under her clothes. Piling all the stuff on the bed made her eyes sting with useless tears. He'd made all this stuff to protect herself against potential rapists, never knowing that one day she might have to use them to protect herself from him.

 

Zoe locked her bedroom door and barricaded it as an extra precaution.

That night, after Zoe had eaten a can of beets and some stale cereal - all she'd been able to snatch in the time she'd had - she lay in bed listening to the noises of the household.

The tv still played every night, the family gathered round it, but the volume was loud and blaring now, her parents and Lucas watching only a few minutes of each channel before moving on. She thought Eveline probably had them watch tv together because it was what normal families did. She doubted any of them actually took in the content of the shows they saw.

Soft footsteps moved up to her door and stopped outside it.

“ _ Zoe!” _

Lucas’s voice, disturbingly sane-sounding. He rapped on the door gently, his knuckles barely grazing the wood. Zoe sat up in bed.

“ _ Zoe, open up! We gotta get outta here!”  _

She didn't move, too scared to trust him but wanting desperately to believe he'd come to his senses and wanted to escape.

_ “C’mon, Zoe! We haveta hurry. Let me in.” _

Slowly, Zoe got out of bed, her feet touching the floor at the same moment Lucas tried the door handle. It turned, catching the lock, and wiggled back and forth.

_ “Open the fuckin’ door, cunt!” _

She froze, her heart sinking. For a split second, she'd actually thought - no,  _ hoped  _ \- that he'd come to help her escape. That they'd get out of there together and go somewhere that Eveline couldn't reach them. That he'd had A Plan.

Feeling trapped, she curled back up in her bed. Lucas had called her many things over the years, but he'd never called her that. She started to cry, all alone in her barricaded room. Had she really thought it would be that easy?

_ “Zooeeee……” _

The timbre of his voice was different now, as though he knew she wasn't fooled and had decided it wasn't worth keeping up the pretence. He threw his weight against the door, rattling the drawers she'd placed there.

Her stomach twisted and she felt like vomiting. She'd faced violence and torture and endless psychological fear since Eveline had arrived but  _ this _ …. This was the worst by far.

She heard him laugh, his fingernails scraping down the door.

“Aw, cmon now, Zoe - don't be like that! It might be fun! Ya never know….”

“Go away, Lucas.”

Her voice was shaky and weak, not the strong defiance she wanted. She huddled under her covers, trembling.

“I can smell you in there, Zoe.”

His voice had a flat quality, as though he had his mouth directly against the door. She shuddered.

“Smell reeaal good. You let me in, an’ I'll go easy on ya, how ‘bout that?”

“No!”

Panicking, she threw her lamp and it crashed into the door, the base shattering.

There was silence from the other side, then Lucas’s voice came again, this time smaller and slightly strangled, as though he was fighting for each word.

“I'm sorry, Zoe. I can't help it. I don't wanna do this. She's  _ makin’ _ me. Don't open the door, whatever ya do. No matter what I say. I might not be able to stop her….”

She heard him sob as his footsteps receded.

Eveline stood by the bed, her face grim. Zoe smiled at her, savouring the thwarted look on the child's face.

“You can't make him,” she said. “He won't do it.”

“But he  _ wants  _ to, I know it!” snarled Eveline, her small fists clenched. “I saw it, deep down in his mind! He saw you with your hand in your pants, and he thought about it!”

“Deep down ain't good enough,” said Zoe placidly. “You ain't even properly human, Eveline, you don't understand how people work. Just because we might think about doin’ somethin’ once, even by accident, don't mean we really wanna, or that we ever will. I once thought about takin’ a shit in old man Freeman’s mailbox - don't mean I'd ever do it.”

Eveline shrieked, baring her teeth.

“I don't like you, Zoe! You're not a good sister! I'm not your friend any more!”

“Run along, child,” laughed Zoe, and lay down.

 

Eveline wouldn't give up.

Zoe didn't know what she was doing to Lucas, but her attack on Zoe was was subtle and sneaky.

Eveline invaded her dreams like she had before, putting images in her head. They were always sex dreams, inspired no doubt by Lucas’s videos, and they started off well.

The child burgled her mind, dragging up infatuations and crushes Zoe had all but forgotten about, thrusting them to the forefront.

Zoe was a slut in her sleep now, fucking countless men every time her eyes closed, starting with Mason Cooper and working backwards. Mr Connery, her 8th grade science teacher, made an appearance one night, his pens still clipped to his top pocket as he drove his dick deep into her on one of the lab desks. The hitchhiker daddy had passed once, the one with the long hair and tight pants, got into her dream car and ate her out while she drove, his tongue impossibly long and strong. Toby Anderson, the boy from church she'd crushed on horribly when she was 13, came to fix the plumbing, all grown up now as he fucked her over the edge of the bathtub.

Although the constant action exhausted her, it was an escape of sorts, and Zoe began to look forward to her dreams, grabbing naps whenever she could so that she could enter her own little  private porno. In her tortured, frightened world, it was one pleasure she could still appreciate.

But it was when she finally got used to the nature of the dreams that Eveline really got to work.

The first time she did it Zoe woke up screaming.

She'd been dreaming about Larry, the guy who had once stopped to help her pick up some groceries she'd dropped, and God, he was good.

Larry was fucking her like a pro, his thumb on her clit, his prick pounding her G-spot as they lay on the grass in the meadow behind the car wash. She could feel the walls of her pussy beginning to flutter, gearing up for a mind-blowing orgasm, and she concentrated hard on stoking that sensation, letting it build, warming her cunt and clenching deep inside her.

“Goddam, Zoe, I never realised you was such a good fuck!” he was saying, and she frowned. His voice didn't sound right. She looked up at him, his head and shoulders framed against the sky, tousled blond hair shaking in time with his thrusts. He'd distracted her, and she fought to regain her progress. 

“Whoo-wee, that's some tight pussy!” he exclaimed, his cock driving deeper than before, filling her more completely than ever. She was stretched round him deliciously, that feeling that always reminded her of being on a roller coaster starting to crest, and she let it happen, her cunt spasming as she came, ripping through her body like a grass fire.

“Aw, hell yeah,” grunted Larry, his spunk shooting into her, coating her insides, but his voice was definitely different and when she looked at him this time it wasn't Larry fucking her into oblivion, but Lucas.

 

Zoe sat up in bed, her scream still scorching her throat, her pussy still twitching in the aftershocks.

The mixture of sexual ecstasy and horrified revulsion was so alien that her mind couldn't cope with it, and she sobbed into her pillow, hating herself, hating Eveline.

“Sweet dream, Zoe?” It was Eveline, speaking to her from darkened corner of her room.

“Stop it, Eveline!”

Zoe was so distraught she couldn't even lift her head.

“You liked it, didnt you?”

“You  _ tricked _ me!” wailed Zoe. “That wasn't fair…..”

Eveline laughed, a pretty, carefree sound.

“Sleep well, sister!”

 

Conditioning. That was the word for what Eveline was doing: Trying to make an indelible association between Lucas and sexual pleasure that would wear her down and destroy her resistance.

She didn't let up, the dreams becoming more graphic and obscene yet even more pleasurable, but every time Zoe began to relax and cum, Eveline put Lucas in place of whoever she was fucking.

Dream Zoe would look and see her brother underneath or on top of her where someone else had been only moments before.

Eveline was clever, always saving Lucas's appearance until Zoe teetered on the brink of orgasm, coming seconds after the realisation hit her when it was too late to back down.

Soon, Zoe was afraid to sleep.

She stumbled round like a zombie, her taser clutched in one hand, her knife in the other, staying downstairs only long enough to collect her stash of food before disappearing back to her room. She found an old chamber pot in the piles of junk stacked in one of the spare rooms, and used that instead of risking the bathroom.

The few times she saw Lucas she kept her distance, brandishing her knife at him, warning him away. He looked at her like Brent Chambers had looked at her that day in the bayou all those years ago, his eyes calculating, his lips twisted in a leer.

Exhausted, she allowed herself a nap, and Eveline stepped in and took over immediately. The girl had stopped bothering to titillate her now, having ground her down so far, and this time Zoe was fucking Mr Anderson from the feed store, sat naked on his lap while she rode his cock. His veiny hands clasped her ass cheeks as her tits brushed against the brown overall he wore. He was grunting and sweating, his wire rimmed glasses steaming up, his moustache wet with spit.

“You're a good girl, Zoe,” he was saying.

“Uh-huh,” she answered dispassionately, still fucking him.

The hands on her ass tightened. She looked down.

“That's real nice, Zoe,” said Lucas, his head tipped back, gazing up at her.

She wasn't even close to cumming, and Eveline had put him there already. Zoe faltered, her rhythm failing, but Lucas picked up where she left off, pumping his hips up, regaining ground. After a moment, Zoe joined him, resuming her motion, fucking her brother, dead inside.

She just wanted to sleep.

 

Zoe began to move her stuff into the trailer. Lucas could still get to her in there if he was really determined, but it wasn't Lucas she was worried about now - it was herself. Eveline had broken her with her psychological torment and sleep deprivation. Now Zoe desperately needed to keep out of her brother's way.

She was carrying a fan downstairs when Lucas stepped out of a doorway, blocking her way.

“Move, Lucas,” she said, backing away a step.

He grinned at her.

“Where ya off to, Zoe? The trailer? Reckon I could break down that door, I wanted to.”

“You prolly could. But I doubt you will. Now please - move!”

He shook his head, extending both arms so they stretched the breadth of the hall.

“What ya scared of, sis? You scared o’ yer own feelin’s?” He leaned closer, grinning. “You scared ya want it?”

Zoe dropped the fan, turning to run, but Eveline stood in her way. Lucas stood behind her, his breath hot on her neck, his hands resting on her waist.

“Give up, Zoe,” said Eveline. “It'll be easier.”

Zoe felt Lucas turning her and she swivelled, unresisting. Some part of her surrendered at that moment, realising the futility of her fight. Evie would win. Evie always won.

Her back met the wall, sandwiching her between it and her brother. His face was dark under the shadow of his hood, but she could see his eyes, bright points of blue that made her feel like she was dreaming.

He grabbed her crotch, squeezing hard, his thumb digging into the seam of her jeans.

Zoe moaned. This had to be another dream. She couldn't move or speak. His hand flexed, his fingers pressing through the denim to the gap of her pussy, his thumb rubbing. The reaction hit her, the association Eveline had painstakingly instilled with her trickery. She sagged against the wall, turning her head to the side. Lucas leaned forward, his breath hot on her cheek. He smelled like rotting meat.

“Just do it….” she murmured, defeated.

“Go on, Lucas!” hissed Eveline. “She's ready now!”

Lucas glanced towards the child, the light hitting his face. His expression was full of irritation.

“Git outta here, Eveline! This ain't for kids!”

Zoe sobbed and Lucas turned his attention back to her. Slowly, his expression changed, melting from the predatory leer to an expression of horror, his eyes pleading even as his hand still clutched her. 

“Don't let me do this, Zoe. Tell me to stop!”

Eveline made an impatient sound, and Lucas’s face twisted as if he were in pain.

“Eveline, no!” he begged.

His face flickered, changed again, dancing between lust and terror.

“ _ I'm gunna rip ya open from the inside out _ for God's sake Zoe make me stop  _ you want this dontcha _ push me away don't let me do it  _ filthy fuckin’ slut _ .”

With an effort, struggling every inch of the way, Zoe put her hand against his shoulder weakly, shoving with the little strength she had left in her.

“Get off me….” she whispered, her voice dull and despairing.

Lucas snatched his hand away as if scalded. He stepped back, his shoulders heaving with barely restrained sobs.

The spell broken, Zoe staggered, nearly falling. A cold hand gripped her guts, making her want to puke up her meagre rations.

Lucas was shaking his head.

“I'm sorry, Zoe, it weren't me, I'm so sorry...”

He was Lucas again for that moment, repelling Eveline’s influence, appalled at what had happened.

“Do it, Lucas!” yelled Eveline, stamping her foot in fury.

Lucas grabbed the fan from where it had fallen, jammed it into Zoe’s unresisting hands.

“Run, Zoe!” he urged, and Zoe ran, stumbling over her sneakers as Eveline raged behind her.

 

It hadn't been about babies. Maybe at the start, but not afterwards. It had been about control: about Eveline forcing them to do something that was abhorrent to them; about breaking the bonds between brother and sister so that trust was destroyed and only Eveline was left.

It had been about punishing Zoe for her defiance.

Eveline left her alone after that, possibly bored, possibly admitting defeat. Zoe didn't care which. She could sleep again with no more disturbing dreams.

 

A few days later Zoe woke to the sound of a commotion on the scrubby lawn outside the trailer. Curious, she peered out of the small, dusty window by her bed.

Mia and Lucas were out there, Eveline off to one side. Their attention wasn't on her, so she cautiously opened the trailer door.

She thought they were fighting, and certainly at first glance it appeared that they were, although upon closer examination the rhythm of their movements gave their actions away.

Mia was naked from the waist down, her hands tied behind her back, and Zoe’s first instinct was to rush over and release her, but the woman's behaviour wasn't that of a helpless victim.

Mia sat astride Lucas, snarling and pumping her hips as she rode him, her hands evidently restrained to prevent her from harming him too badly. She had her “witch face” on - the twisted mask that reminded Zoe of one of the possessed from Evil Dead, her teeth bared and snapping at Lucas’s throat even as he struggled to hold her at arm's length.

Lucas lay beneath her, his grin steeped in madness, his free hand sinking into her thigh so deep little trickles of blood ran from his fingertips. The guttural noises of enjoyment he made were savage, his ass rising from the floor to thrust into the thrashing woman with a speed and force that didn't seem possible in his prone position.

Zoe made an involuntary sound of disgust in her throat and tried to back away, but with a glance Eveline pinned her there, the full force of her anger directed at Zoe.

Mia shrieked, raising herself on her knees and slamming down onto Lucas, twisting her pelvis and grinding into his cock. She threw back her head, hurling her weight backwards, creating an angle between her and Lucas that looked both painful and improbable. Lucas grabbed her hips, ramming her against him, cursing through the rictus of his smile.

Over it all, Eveline watched - smug and indulgent and somehow prim. She looked pleased that her pets were doing her bidding, but Zoe doubted that the child fully understood the visceral horror of what she was witnessing. It was oogy, adult stuff, but oogy adult stuff she was directing just to make a point. What did she think she was doing?

Mia screeched, her arms straining, and her bonds gave with snapping sounds like whip cracks. She wrapped her fingers round Lucas’s throat, choking him as she fucked him, saliva dripping from between her clenched teeth to fall on his face.

Lucas didn't seem bothered by her violence, responding with violence of his own, reaching up to grab a handful of her greasy hair, pulling her head to one side as though he would snap her neck. A torrent of abuse flowed from him, hoarse threats and jumbled profanity, but his eyes were alight with fierce pleasure, stabbing his cock into the woman on top of him over and over again.

Zoe wanted to leave, her stomach turning at something she had never meant or wanted to witness, but Eveline held her fast cruelly, gluing her feet in place, forcing her to watch.

Lucas gave a strangled cry of triumph, yanking Mia’s head against her shoulder. Mia banged his head against the floor repeatedly, answering with her own howl as their groins locked together, shuddering in orgasm.

Lucas pried her hands from his throat as Mia went limp, Eveline releasing her hold on the woman's mind. She sagged on her knees, her head rolling forward, hitting the floor like a sack of meat when Lucas tipped her off him.

Zoe felt sick, knowing that on her own Mia would never willingly have done what she had, but at the same time there was a fierce gladness that Mia had been the one to submit and not her.

Lucas stood, barely out of breath from his exertion, his cock still jutting out from his pants. It was shiny with mold-streaked blood, and Zoe tried to look away in disgust but Eveline wouldn't let her.

“That could o’ been you, Zoe, if ya hadn't been such an uptight bitch!” spat Lucas, and though the voice was his own she sensed the words were not. He moved stiffly, stuffing himself back in his pants with jerky motions that told her he was fully under Eveline’s control.

“You did good, Lucas,” said Eveline in her sickly little girl's voice. “Mia, too. You're  _ both _ my favourites!”

Eveline smirked at Zoe, but although her expression was one of triumph there was hostility underneath. She was acting like she'd won, but she hadn't, and Zoe felt grim satisfaction. The bitch had lost.

 

Eveline waited, but there was no baby. She berated Lucas and Mia, singularly and together, for their inability to do something so simple, but neither of them had any argument to offer. Against all odds, they looked ashamed at their inadequacy, but never tried to explain to Eveline that pregnancy needed certain elements to be in alignment if it were going to happen.

Zoe could have told her, if she'd had the urge, but she repressed any smug desire to point out the flaws in Eveline’s plan. Let the little bitch stamp her feet and have her tantrums if she wanted.

Zoe didn't know if Eveline had repeated her experiment at any point. No doubt that first time on the grass outside her trailer had been a not-so-subtle display of power, Eveline making a public point, but thankfully Zoe wasn't made aware of any further couplings between her brother and Mia, and that suited her just fine.

Without her pet project Eveline was moody and prone to violence. She tormented Lucas endlessly, partly because he had defied her and refused do what she wanted with Zoe and partly because he had failed to make a baby with Mia.

Although Lucas didn't seem to feel pain on a physical basis any more, Zoe had no doubt that Eveline had found ways to get around that, as was demonstrated by the sounds that sometimes came from the house.

Behind her locked door in the trailer, Zoe often heard the sounds of her brother being punished, and had to close her ears and her heart to his misery. She was eternally grateful that he'd had the fortitude and tenacity to resist Evie’s incestuous little plans, but she knew there was no point in her intervening.

The child might not be able to force him to rape her, but she could and would use him to hurt her in other ways, something that was made abundantly clear one day when Zoe made a foray into the house to collect provisions.

 

There was canned food in the cellar, but when Zoe tried to gain access the door was locked and there were scorpions nailed to it.

Confused, Zoe jiggled the door handle again with just as much success.

“What are you doing, Zoe?” came Eveline’s voice from the overhead balcony.

Zoe didn't bother to answer. Caught red-handed, there was no excuse she could provide that would offer any reprieve. She looked up, and there stood Evie, Lucas at her side - her devoted slave.

She'd tortured him again last night - Zoe had heard him begging, then screaming. Eveline had apparently done it out of boredom, as the child had been laughing merrily instead of overseeing the procedure with the grim, disapproving silence that was normally reserved for chastisement.

“Why's the cellar door locked, Evie?” asked Zoe dully.

“To keep people out,” replied Eveline simply. “We're doing  _ secret  _ stuff down there. Why? Were you looking for food?”

“Yes.” There was no point denying it. Doubtless she knew anyway.

“There's food up here,” said Eveline. “You have to come and get it, though.”

Zoe hesitated. She had enough food to last her for the rest of the day - two days if she was careful. Was it worth taking the risk? Eveline would sometimes dole out treats if she was in the mood, recognising that she needed to keep Zoe alive if she wanted to have her around to torment. The problem was that sometimes - most of the time, in fact - Eveline couldn't be trusted.

“Don't worry, Eveline. I'm good for now.”

Zoe turned to leave through the dog head door.

“Stay and play,” ordered Eveline.

“I'm tired, Evie,” protested Zoe. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Eveline sighed.

“Get her, Lucas.”

Zoe tried to run, but her brother didn't bother to use the stairs in his pursuit. He vaulted the edge of the balcony, landing within a few feet of her. She heard his ankle crack, but he shook it casually and it snapped back into place.

“Lucas, please…..” Zoe begged wearily, backing away.

Lucas grinned and lunged for her. She turned, tripping over her own feet, and went sprawling on the floor. Still, she tried to crawl away, scrabbling towards the door.

“Get back here, Zoe,” laughed Lucas, following her. “I don't wanna have to hurt you!”

“Fuck off, asshole!” she screamed.

“Kick her, Lucas,” said Eveline.

Instinctively, Zoe scrambled into a fetal position, guarding her head with her arms. He kicked her in the back, her kidneys flaring in pain. It was agony.

“Eveline, don't!” she begged.

“Bring her up here, Lucas,” commanded Eveline, and suddenly Zoe felt a hand digging into the waistband of her jeans, hoisting her up off the floor. Feeling like the seam of her pants would split her in half, Zoe tried to find the floor with her feet, but with an almost casual swoop Lucas tossed her over his shoulder and carried her up the stairs.

She was dropped at Eveline’s feet without ceremony but with a bone-jarring thud.

Eveline prodded her with the toe of her boot.

“Get up, Zoe,” she said.

Zoe tried, her back still hurting where Lucas had kicked her. The pain was bad enough, but the humiliation and betrayal were worse. Eveline could have used her family to make her do things by threatening to hurt them, but she preferred to use her family to hurt her instead. It added an extra elegance to her revenge to see Jack forget his fatherly programming and batter her brutally. To see Marguerite, the woman who had given birth to her, set clouds of stinging bugs on her. To make Lucas, the person who had defended her whilst they had been growing, become her attacker.

Eveline was a twisted little bitch.

Zoe managed to regain her footing, shying away from Lucas, afraid he'd get it into his head to shove her over again. She clutched at her back, her kidneys balls of burning pain. If there wasn't blood in her pee later, she'd be surprised.

“Do you want to know what we're doing in the cellar, Zoe?” asked Eveline.

Zoe shrugged.

“Ain't none o’ my business,” she said neutrally. If she admitted that she wanted to know, wild horses wouldn't drag it out of the child.

“We're making a family!” said Eveline excitedly.

Zoe raised her eyebrows. Considering Eveline’s previous efforts, Zoe envisioned a Roman orgy going on downstairs - hordes of people fucking in the dank corridors, trying to make babies 24/7.

“I gave up on that idea,” said Eveline offhandedly, reading her thoughts. “You didn't tell me it takes 9 months for a baby to be born!”

Her tone was accusatory, as though the biological facts were Zoe’s own fault.

“You never asked,” pointed out Zoe.

Eveline ignored her.

“Besides,  _ some people  _ \- “ Here she glanced at Lucas. “ - can't make babies.”

Lucas hung his head. Zoe had never seen him look so ashamed in his entire life.

“That's why I made him cut his pee-pee off,” said Eveline. “Isn't that right, Lucas?”

Lucas nodded, not raising his head, his ears bright red.

“You made him do  _ what? _ ” Zoe was horrified. “Evie, that's….”

“It grew back,” said Eveline scornfully. “Not that he needs it.”

She regarded him with disdain.

“Anyway, it takes too long to make babies, and then they have to grow up, and that's boring. So I'm using another way.”

“What's the other way?”

As much as Zoe didn't want to encourage Eveline’s bragging, her curiosity was stoked.

“I'm growing them.”

“Growing them. Right. Like plants.”

Zoe sighed. Eveline’s boasts were bullshit after all.

“No….more like mushrooms,” said Eveline. “Because we're using the mold. Don't look at me like that, Zoe - I've done it before!”

“I'll take your word for it.”

“Alright then, I'll show you if you don't believe me!” huffed Eveline. “Lucas - take her downstairs.”

Zoe had to smile inwardly. As clever and powerful as Eveline thought she was, she was also naive and easily manipulated at times.

 

Lucas had a key for the door - not that it looked like a key. It was huge, for starters, and looked more like a branding iron. It had a scorpion on it to match the door. He elbowed Zoe aside and slotted the end of the key into the new lock.

“I'm bettin’ you made this,” remarked Zoe.

“Uh-huh.”

He grinned at her, baring too many teeth. He looked caught somewhere between pride and insanity.

She wanted to praise his work, but her kidneys still throbbed and she swallowed the urge.

The door opened onto the narrow corridor. It was choked with mold, starting at floor level and climbing up, heaped at the base. The smell here was stronger than anywhere else in the house, and Zoe wrinkled her nose. It reminded her of the time she'd been away to camp as a teen and come back with her still wet swimsuit stewing in her bag, forgetting about until a week later when her mother had asked if she had any dirty laundry. She opened the bag, and the reek of stagnant lake water had wafted out, sticking to the back of her throat.

This smelled similar, but about 50 times worse.

“Jesus….”

It was warm, too, humidity hanging in the air. She could almost feel droplets touching her face. Zoe wondered how many spores were hanging in that damp air.

“Down here,” said Lucas, leading the way.

Zoe hesitated before following. The recent events were still fresh in her mind, and she felt uncomfortable being alone with her brother after all that transpired. It gave her another reason to hate Eveline, that she'd implanted that particular fear of her brother in her mind.

Lucas looked back over his shoulder at her.

“Fuckin’ come on, Zoe. I ain't gonna bite ya!”

“No, just kick me in the back.”

Lucas’s face split into a broad grin.

“Aw, I was just playin’ with ya! Don't be such an old woman. Now, ya wanna see this or not?”

Against her better judgement, she followed him.

They descended the narrow stairs to the basement level. The mold was even more prevalent down here, having climbed further up the walls, and hung in slimy fronds like rancid stalactites, looking ready to drip at any point.

“This here's our first one. Comin’ along nicely, it is,” said Lucas.

Zoe stared in horror. There was a dead body on the floor, the side of its head caved in. It had once been a bearded man dressed in a pair of torn pants and a ragged, filth-grimed shirt, but now it was a feeding ground for mold.

The upper part of the body was a roiling mass of rot, moving and pulsing. The wound on the head was thick with the oily black stuff, glistening in the paltry light, throbbing as if alive.

“What the fuck…..?”

“It's changing him,” said Lucas. “Using him. It gives the mold a shape.”

“Oh my Jesus…..” sobbed Zoe. “How did he get here?”

“Offered him bed an’ board in exchange for work,” said Lucas. “Dumb asshole jumped at the chance.”

“But how did he die, Lucas? How the fuck did he die?” shrieked Zoe, hysteria boiling below the surface of her mind, ready to break free.

“Ole faithful, there,” said Lucas, pointing.

His crowbar - that fucking, goddam crowbar - leaned against the wall, caked in blood and hair and brain matter.

Zoe backed away on trembling legs, shaking her head.

“You killed a man, Lucas….you fucking killed a man!”

Lucas shrugged.

“Wouldn't be the first time, now, would it Zoe?”

He smiled with nostalgia.

“Remember that day in the swamp, Zoe? Brent Fuckin’ Chambers? Boy, I messed ‘im up good, didn't I?”

“That was different…..” Zoe faltered.

“Was it though? Might o’ been personal, but weren't that different, when ya think about it. In fact, I went waayy overboard with Ole Brenty. This guy here, I just gave ‘im a tap.”

Lucas mimed a limp-wristed whack.

“But to do it in cold blood…..”

“Oh, Zoe. My blood ain't cold. It's so hot it’d burn ya. I could do it over an’ over. An’ Eveline says I can.”

“Never thought I'd see the day when you were bein’ ordered around by a little kid,” said Zoe.

“She's more than just a little kid,” said Lucas. “And she's makin’  _ me  _ more. She's makin’ me into a- a  _ god!” _

“Bullshit!” Zoe clenched her fists angrily. “You ain't no god, Lucas - just some hick with a bunch o’ mold runnin’ through ‘im!”

“Oh, but I am, Zoe!” said Lucas earnestly. “I hold the power o’ life an’ death in my hands….”

“So does anyone, if they want. It's just most people don't choose to use it.”

Lucas shook his head in frustration.

“You ain't never gonna understand, Zoe. Not till you accept her gift.”

“I don't  _ want _ her fuckin’ gift! I wanna be human! I don't wanna kill people and live in all this shit! Lucas…..” She moved forward, lowering her voice. “I know a way of gettin’ rid of the infection. To cure us. If you help me - “

Lucas darted forward, grabbing her by the throat, running her backwards and slamming her back against the filthy wall. She spluttered and struggled, trying to pry his fingers loose, but she may as well have tried to bend his crowbar.

“I don't  _ wanna _ be fuckin’ cured!” he snarled. “Why would I ever go back to bein’ that nobody loser from before? You leave that fuckin’ arm alone, ya hear?”

He brought his face in close, and for a moment Zoe was back in the hall upstairs, Eveline egging her brother on to commit the ultimate taboo. Zoe moaned in terror, her legs giving way. Lucas picked up on her fear and snorted in disgust.

“I ain't gonna do  _ that _ ,” he said, releasing her.

Zoe slid down the wall onto the floor, sobbing.

“You must have a real low opinion o’ me, Zoe.”

He walked away, leaving her alone with the corpse.

 

Upstairs, Zoe found Lucas and Eveline talking quietly. They looked up as she entered.

“Lucas said you're trying to make a serum, Zoe,” said Eveline grimly.

“What? No,” said Zoe nervously.

“Don't lie to me. I can tell when you're lying.”

Zoe looked at Lucas in a hopeless entreaty, but he carefully positioned himself behind Eveline, backing her up physically and metaphorically. 

“I wish I didn't have to do this, Zoe,” sighed Eveline, pretending regret, but Zoe could see the vindictive gleam in her eyes.

“Then don't! Please Eveline…..”

But it wasn't Eveline, that moved towards her - it was Lucas.


	12. Incrimination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe gets some new duties, and finds out something to use against her brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really happy with this chapter, but it will serve as a stepping stone to the next :/

Zoe had been barely conscious when Lucas deposited her on the trailer steps, her body wracked with pain, and she must have lain there for hours before she managed to gather the strength to crawl into her dim sanctuary.

There had been a pyramid of cans stacked on her table - a confusing gift. Apparently, Eveline hadn't been lying about the food, but Zoe wasn't sure why she'd let her have it. Maybe her theory about Eveline wanting to keep her alive just to torment her had been correct.

Once behind the locked door, Zoe had assessed the damage.

Some of her teeth had been loosened: It remained to be seen whether they would heal or fall out. Her left eye was swollen shut, the other open but she could only see out of it through a thin haze of red. One of Lucas's kicks had, she was pretty sure, dislocated her shoulder, but now it seemed to have popped back in, though it still ached. Whether it was the mold at work or the savage yank he'd given her arm she wasn't sure.

She ran her fingers over her ribs, wincing at the soreness. Cracked or broken, maybe.

She'd had time to be thankful that her hair had been cut as Lucas had done his level best to snatch up a handful in order to hold her head still, but his fingers had skidded through the short locks without finding purchase.

There had been more blows to her kidneys, and when she managed to drag herself into the little cubicle that held her toilet, there had indeed been blood in her pee.

o The worst pain, however, was the blow that had been dealt to her spirit.

Lucas may have laid into her at Eveline’s direction, but she'd caught glimpses of his face as he'd danced around her, and it had been alive with glee. He had been having fun.

Zoe covered the only mirror in her trailer, not wanting to see the bruised and swollen face that stared back at her.

She sagged brokenly on her bed, each part of her at war, vying for the trophy of Worst Pain. She tried hard not to think about what had happened, but it was impossible. Each moment - every slap, every kick, every punch - was emblazoned on her memory.

And the bites.

She moaned at the recollection. She'd put up a hand to ward him off, her fingers finding his face, and his grin had swallowed them right up. The pain in her knuckles had been keen and bright, quite different from the blows he'd dealt. And the terror that he'd bite them right off had sent her into crazed panic, screaming and thrashing around. At that moment she could well imagine him crunching them up like a tasty treat, swallowing the digits with their still fuschia-painted nails.

A kick to his balls from her wildly flailing foot had dislodged them, and he hadn't broken the skin, but the brief taster he'd had seemed to make him more keen. He’d made a point of biting her whenever he got the opportunity after that. In the worst moments, it felt like he'd happily eat her up, and the bloody, inflamed rings made by his teeth bore testament to that fact. There was a chain of them ascending the scant flesh of her arm, and they throbbed and burned in a constant symphony of agony.

Over it all, Eveline had watched, her face emotionless, though her eyes had glowed with fierce enjoyment.

There had been a moment - a muddled, terror filled moment - when Lucas had her head between both his hands, and he'd faltered. The blue of his eyes, normally icy and bright, had been dulled, and his face was so close to hers that she'd been able to see tiny threads of black, like veins, filtering through the whites. His pupils had been tiny, mere pinpricks of black boring into her. There had been pressure on the sides of her head, pulling at her neck, his arms thrumming with caged energy, when suddenly Eveline had called a halt.

Zoe fell onto the floor, her neck throbbing. He'd been poised, she realised, to snap her neck. Whether it would have killed her she didn't know, but the realisation of how close he had come made beads of cold sweat stand out on her skin.

Eveline walked over and stood next to her prone body, examining her wounds.

“That's just a warning, Zoe. Behave yourself. Or you'll get worse.”

She'd walked away, dismissing her.

 

Zoe had been dozing, unable to sleep properly, when she heard a knock on her trailer door.

“Hey, Zoe!”

It was Lucas’s voice. He sounded pleasant and relaxed, but his presence paralysed her with terror.

“Go away!” she shrieked.

“Uh-uh. Doctor Eveline’s orders.”

The door handle jiggled, and she heard him give an exasperated sigh.

“Dunno why you'd bother lockin’ it…..” he remarked, and a loud thud made the trailer shudder.

The door flew open, the flimsy locked shattered, and Lucas stepped inside.

“Told you I could break down that door,” he said, his face dark, but then he brightened.

“Hell, Zoe! You're dinged up pretty good!”

He sounded surprised but delighted.

“I got some fuckin’ talent at that, ain't I?” he laughed.

If he wanted her to praise his skills at bestowing beatings, he would be disappointed.

Zoe eyed him warily.  If he decided to start in on her again, she was in no condition to defend herself.

“Aw, don't look so worried,” said Lucas. “Eveline sent me to fix you up. Dunno why she wants to undo all my hard work, but there ain't no point askin’. She's a complicated girl.”

“Fix me up?”

Her lips had been split in several places, and talking reopened the cuts, dribbling blood down her chin.

“Yup. Got this stuff. It's good.”

He produced two green glass bottles from the depths of his hoodie.

“What is that?” she asked nervously.

“Healing herbs mixed up with some other shit. It'll fix ya right up!”

He unscrewed the lid from one of the bottles, and she cringed away from him. She could easily imagine the stuff being acid that he'd happily douse her with.

He laughed again.

“Yer like a long-tailed cat in a room full o’ rockin’ chairs! Lighten up, sis!”

“After what you did?”

Her first thoughts when he'd landed the initial punch in the middle of her face had been disbelief rather than fear, though the fear had soon followed. However, both were now replaced by hot anger.

He looked surprise at the sudden flare.

“What's wrong? It was just a bit o’ fun. If I'd really wanted to fuck you up, I coulda done it,” he boasted.

“Fun?”

Zoe couldn't help but be bewildered. How did his mind work now?

“Yeah, fun. Get the old adrenaline pumpin’, liven things up a bit. You ain't tellin’ me it hurt, are ya?”

“Of course it hurt, Lucas! Why did you think I was screaming?”

He shrugged.

“I thought maybe you was playin’ along. It don't never hurt when me an’ the old man square up. You shoulda said somethin’.”

She thought back to the screams and pleas that had made her hoarse, the “No”s and the “Stop”s she'd uttered, and realised there was no point in using logic. Her brother was way beyond reason and sanity now.

“Anyways, this should sort ya out. It's like magic! ‘cept it ain't, o’ course. It's _science._ ”

He splashed the contents of most of one of the bottles in her face without warning, and Zoe gasped and spluttered. There was a medicinal, chemical smell about it, backed up by a herbal scent, like the vermouth she'd tried a while back at a party. It tingled, and for a second she'd thought that her paranoia about acid had turned out to be correct, but the stinging sensation soon dissipated, to be replaced by the kind of bliss that comes from the relief of pain.

There was a weird, pulling sensation around her eye as the swelling began to recede, and her vision in the other eye cleared within a few blinks. The headache that had been pounding inside her skull disappeared, and a ginger investigation with her tongue told her that her teeth were no longer loose.

“Oh my god…..”

She tried to sit up, but her ribs blazed in agony.

“Hold up,” said Lucas cheerfully, and dumped the rest of the bottle over her chest.

The liquid soaked into the fabric of her blouse, turning it transparent, and Lucas turned away hurriedly, looking embarrassed.

“You, uh, better do the rest o’ yer bits yerself….” he muttered, holding the bottle out to her behind him.

To her surprise, Zoe was able to sit up and retrieve it from him without any difficulty, and pulled a blanket up over her chest as she did so.

“I gotta go, now,” said Lucas. “Gotta keep an eye on our first experiment, see how he's comin’ along. Eveline said not all o’ em take - they just stay dead. See ya later, Zoe.”

He marched out, slamming the broken door behind him.

Once he was gone, Zoe turned her attention to her other wounds. She wasn’t as liberal with the mixture as Lucas had been, dabbing it sparingly onto the bite marks on her arm, as she wasn't sure when she'd be able to get more of it. She had a feeling the stuff would come in useful.

It seemed to work by some sort of saturation, sinking through the skin and entering the bloodstream maybe, as when she carefully daubed some on her back, the clenching misery of her kidneys eased considerably.

She still had roughly two thirds of the bottle left by the time she'd tended to all her injuries, and she carefully screwed the lid back on, stashing it safely away.

Though the pain had gone, the mental scars remained, and whenever she tried to sleep, Lucas’s grinning face loomed into view, his fist or his foot descending. She knew the images would continue to trouble her for a while.

 

There were screams coming from outside.

Zoe was woken by the sounds of terror and panic filtering through her trailer walls.

It had been more than a week, she thought, since Lucas had beat her up, and since then she'd made herself scarce. The canned food Eveline had allowed her was lasting, and Zoe had been able to manage tolerably well without leaving her trailer. It was a false security, as Lucas had shown when he'd easily kicked the door in, but out of sight was out of mind, and her family seemed to forget about her shut away out here.

But now there were noises that needed investigation.

Zoe carefully pulled aside a corner of the blanket she'd tacked over the window and peered out.

There was a girl, young and pretty, wearing nice clothes, backing away from the house, her face set in an expression of horror. Zoe could see a bruise on her cheek and black smudges that could only be mold on her legs.

“Aw, come on now, honey - don't be like that!”

Her brother's voice drifted over, and Zoe craned her neck to see Lucas stood on the back verandah, his hands held out wide. He was trying, she imagined, to not look like a dangerous maniac, but he was failing.

“Stay away from me!” sobbed the girl, still backing away.

“You ain't gonna run off an’ leave yer friends, are ya? That there's some cold-hearted behaviour, let me tell ya. That ain't how a friend should act.”

Like he'd ever had a friend to be able to know that, Zoe thought. With the exception of a couple of loners who’d hung around with him for protection, most of the kids at school had avoided him.

“Just come back inside, Nadine. Lemme see to that there arm.”

She had a broken arm, Zoe realised. She held it against her chest awkwardly, cradling it.

Nadine shook her head vigorously, tears flying off her cheeks.

“No! Leave me alone!”

“Yer pissin’ me off now, Nadine,” warned Lucas.  “Only makin’ it harder for yerself. You can't escape.”

“Fuck off!” she shrieked, and Zoe smiled to herself.

 _You tell ‘im, Nadine,_ she thought.

“Ok, don't say I didn't warn ya!”

Lucas jumped the steps leading down from the verandah and set off in pursuit. He was fast, shockingly so, and Zoe cringed on the girl's behalf watching him dart across the grass.

Nadine screamed and turned to run away, but she only got a few steps before the flat of Jack’s giant shovel smacked her squarely in the face, making a dull clang.

The girl slumped to the ground, her head lolling on her neck, her face staved in.

“Aw, dad! You ruined it! That was gonna be a fun chase!”

Lucas sounded like a thwarted little kid, denied his games.

“We ain't got time for none o’ your fart-assin’ around, son,” said Jack in annoyance. “I swear you let that girl escape just so’s you could hunt her down.”

“Hey, that ain't fair!” protested Lucas. “You're the one who keeps forgettin’ to take the dog heads outta the door!”

“I ain't got the patience for all that fuckery,” grumped Jack. “An’ I wouldn't have ta if you hadn't gotten 3 o’ these useless bitches at once! What was you thinkin’?”

“I was thinkin’ that there was 3 of ‘em an’ I couldn’t very well take one an’ leave the others to run off to the pigs!” retorted Lucas, advancing on his father angrily. “What else was I s’posed to do?”

“You were s’posed to think with yer brain, not yer pecker. Got yer head turned by a pretty face an’ a nice pair o’ legs. Vagrants we said, boy! Not college girls!”

“Well why don't you go out there an’ fetch some yerself then, you crazy old fuck? You couldn't do no better….”

The two men were toe to toe now, glowering at each other.

“Somebody has to stay here an’ mind the place,” growled Jack. “Ain't no other _man_ here but me to do it!”

“Why, you rotten old motherfucker……” snarled Lucas, clenching his fists.

Jack bellowed laughter.

“You ain't wrong, son! Fucked yer mother only last night as it happens!”

Zoe fell back from the window, sick to her stomach. She had become numb to the prospect of her brother and father fighting, but the fact that they would quarrel and swap insults with a dead girl lying at their feet brought a whole new level of horror to the situation.

And there were two more somewhere in the house. College girls. Young women with futures and families.

“Stop that, you two!”

Marguerite’s voice cut through the argument.

“Them other two sluts are runnin’ loose in the house, an’ you dumb bastards are competin’ to see who has the biggest balls! Get the fuck in here and catch ‘em!”

Jack bristled slightly, but turned away from Lucas.

“Much as I hate to admit, she's right. You go on ahead an’ I'll take this one down to the processin’ area.”

Jack stooped and grabbed one of the girl's slender ankles, proceeding to drag her towards the house. The movement caused the little plaid skirt she was wearing to hitch up, revealing the crotch of a pair of white panties. Lucas stood, dumbstruck for a moment, gazing between her splayed legs.

“Get outta here, you horny little bastard!” snapped Jack, cuffing Lucas round the back of his head.

Lucas scowled at him, but turned and went towards the house, throwing an occasional wistful glance backwards.

 

It was dark, and Zoe still felt ill. Every light in the house seemed to be on, and she knew her family were still hunting for the other two escapees. She heard her parents and brother calling to each other, trying to round them up.

She wanted to help the girls escape. She so wanted to run in there and find them, lead them to safety. But what would happen to her if she did? Another beating? Something worse?

Her guilt and cowardice tormented her, but she didn't know what she could do.

She heard a yell of triumph, followed by a short scream.

Zoe looked out of her window just in time to see one of the surviving upstairs windows shatter, and a girl came sailing through. From the trajectory of her exit, Zoe judged that the girl had taken a running jump through the window.

She fell endlessly, her arms and legs flailing in mid-air, surrounded by the bright, glittering gems of broken glass.

Zoe winced as she fell heavily onto the ground. There was a shard of glass sticking from her face, another from her arm. Something snapped beneath her as she landed.

Zoe couldn't stand it any more. She pushed open the trailer door and ran outside. From the newly broken window she heard a girl screaming.

“Leila! Oh my god! Leila!”

Zoe knelt by the fallen girl.

“You're Leila?”

“Yuh…..” moaned the girl.

“Listen to me, Leila - you have to get up. They'll be out here in a minute.”

“Can't…...my leg……”

Zoe peered behind her, her stomach lurching as she saw the girl’s leg twisted at an unlikely angle, the bone poking through the skin.

“Shit…..I'm real sorry, Leila. I can't help you.”

“No, please…..help me…..”

“I can't! They catch me helpin’ you an’ we're _both_ dead. I'm so sorry…..”

Zoe stood. Another girl stood in the upper window, framed by jagged edges of broken glass. She was screaming her friend's name.

Backing away helplessly, Zoe saw her brother appear behind the new girl, looping his arm around her throat, choking off her screams as he dragged her backwards. She could see the girl thrashing against him as Lucas laughed.

“Don't go!” wailed Leila. “Please, help me!”

She was trying to crawl, blood gushing from open wounds, her broken leg dragging behind her uselessly.

“I'm sorry, I can't! I can't!”

Zoe fled back into her trailer, nearly crippled by self-loathing.

 _What could I do?_ She thought to herself frantically. _What could I actually do? The trailer's the first place they'd look!_

She slammed her trailer door closed just in time as her father crashed through the back door.

Leila started screaming in earnest, seeing the huge bearded man stomping towards her. Zoe crouched on her trailer floor, her fingers in her ears, but she couldn't blot out the rising scream from the injured girl that stopped abruptly.

“You get ‘er, Jack?” called Marguerite from the house.

Her father's voice answered from directly outside her trailer door.

“Yup. She ain't goin’ nowhere.”

“Lucas got the other. Should he keep her alive?”

“Yeah, why not? Stop ‘er from rottin’ till we're ready to process ‘er. Just make sure that asshole locks ‘er up properly this time.”

There was a wet dragging sound, punctuated by footsteps crackling over broken glass. Zoe sagged against her trailer door.

“You couldn't have done anything, Zoe,” she said to herself, trying desperately to believe it.

 

A new day dawned, the same as the one before.

Lucas was outside her trailer, shovelling broken glass and muttering to himself.

“Get all the fuckin’ shitty jobs….. clear up the glass, Lucas…...hose off the blood, Lucas….board up the window, Lucas……”

He seemed so much like the sulky Lucas she'd always known that Zoe stuck her head cautiously out of her trailer.

“That was, uh, quite a commotion last night. What in the hell was goin’ on?”

Lucas narrowed his eyes at her.

“Don't fuckin’ pretend you don't know. I saw you, kneelin’ by that stupid bitch jumped outta the window. What was she sayin’ to ya?”

“Just askin’ for help,” said Zoe quietly.

She'd spent a guilty night trying to convince herself there was nothing she could have done, but even though she knew that was probably the case, she still felt like she should have done _something._

“You didn't give ‘er none, though,” mused Lucas.

“What could I have done?” demanded Zoe.

“Nothin’.” Lucas grinned. “You coulda tried, though. Looks like you ain't no better than us, Miss Fuckin’ Bleedin’ Heart. Leavin’ that girl to die on the grass. Oughta be ashamed.”

He burst out laughing.

“Fuck off, Lucas,” said Zoe half-heartedly, and started to go inside.

“Uh-uh, no you fuckin’ don't!” Lucas tossed down his shovel. “I been workin’ my ass off an’ you ain't done _nothin’._ It's about time you did your fair share.”

“I ain't fuckin’ helpin’ you with your - your _corpse farm,_ ” sneered Zoe.

“That's where yer wrong.”

Lucas’s hand shot through the gap in the door, grabbing her blouse and dragging her down the steps. She stumbled, falling face down onto the grass, instinctively rolling to the side in case Lucas decided to kick her.

“I gotta feed the fuckin’ guests an’ I already got a shitload to do. Plus, their fuckin’ whinin’ is gettin’ on my very last nerve. So you're gonna do it. You just fuckin’ volunteered.”

“No!”

Zoe scrambled to her feet, dodging away from him.

“Come on, I ain't askin’ much!” said Lucas in exasperation. “Just take ‘em their food, shove it under the cell door, an’ fuck off again.”

“ _Cell door_? Since when do we have cells, let alone doors to put on ‘em?”

“Since me an’ the old man installed ‘em. Gotta keep our guests secure after all. Now are you gonna do it or am I gonna have to fuck you up again?” he threatened.

His upper body was swaying like a cobra about to strike, and his eyes gleamed. He was pissed off enough to enjoy such a diversion, she thought.

“I can't do it, Lucas!” she reasoned. “I can't go in that house with Daddy…..an’ Momma…….I don't know what they'll do to me!”

“Won't do nothin’ if you're there on business,” said Lucas confidently. “Just tell ‘em why you're there. Now go on - get. I gotta finish all this bullshit.”

Zoe hesitated, only moving when Lucas made an exaggerated feint towards her.

Heart beating fit to bust, she made her way into the house.

 

The main hall was still in pretty good shape, although a fine layer of dust was starting to accumulate over all the surfaces.

The double doors leading to the other part of the house had changed, the old white-painted doors having been switched out for gleaming brown wooden ones. They looked expensive.

Zoe pushed them open, scattering sawdust and curls of woodshavings with the draft she created. The door locks appeared to be a work in progress, burnished metal reliefs that were far too large and fancy for the Baker's property.

She examined them curiously: One side was more or less complete, a centaur carrying a spear. She detected Lucas’s handiwork in the design, the intricate detail astonishing.

“Holy shit, that's real good,” she muttered, touching the raised carving.

Not that long ago she'd been considering the great tragedy that her brother had never gotten to go off to some fancy college, but now her grief was on another level. Now the tragedy was that she hadn't appreciated that simple life when she'd had it. She wished she could go back to that point in time, and be thankful for the fact that even though Lucas’s talent was wasted, he was safe, and so were the rest of them.

Tears stung at her eyes but she wiped them away. They weren't going to fucking help anything.

She continued on along the hall, pausing at the family photos lined up on the side tables: Her parents when they were younger; a rare photo of Lucas almost smiling.

The framed photo of herself was still there, but now it was set apart from the rest of them on a separate table. It had also been defaced, a black scribble over her eyes. It looked like it had been done with crayon. Zoe thought of the sinister black crayon drawings she'd seen in Eveline’s room. Another mystery solved.

Zoe turned the photo face downwards. The scribble made her feel uncomfortable.

 

Taking her courage in both hands, Zoe entered the kitchen.

The place was filthy, dirty dishes in the sink, meat laying out on the counter with flies crawling over it. The sweet smell of rot hung in the air.

“Momma?” she called nervously.

Marguerite burst out of the pantry. Her hair was a tangled mess, bugs crawling through it, and her face was pulled into a twisted scowl.

“What the fuck are you doin’ in here?”

Zoe fought the urge to flee, knowing it would be dangerous, and held her ground, although every instinct told her to get out of there.

“Lucas sent me to help out,” she said in a small voice. “He's real busy and wanted me to help feed the, uh….” What was the word he'd used? Not prisoners. “....the guests!”

Marguerite’s face softened slightly, and for a second Zoe saw her mother underneath the dirty crone.

“Oh, well, that's nice, I guess.” Her voice was nearer the gentle tone she used to have, and Zoe hoped that meant that Robert the centipede was well tucked away. “Although he shouldn't be tryin’ to offload his chores onto you.”

There was faint disapproval in her voice, but nothing scary.

“Well, he ain't never gonna change,” said Zoe, surprised at the evenness of her voice. “Always did like to try an’ get me to do ‘em.”

Marguerite laughed.

“That is true,” she said fondly. “Oh well, since you're here, then….”

Marguerite loaded up a tray with three covered plates. The smell coming off them was rank and sickly, and Zoe tried hard not to gag.

“You're gonna have to go through the old guest house - the cells are under there. There's enough room under the doors to slide the plates without the covers, so there's no need to give you the keys,” said Marguerite pointedly. “An’ don't go gettin’ into conversations with none o’ them. They're not our type o’ people.”

The primness in her mother's tone would have been hilarious under other circumstances, but the fact that they had prisoners under the guest house was too sobering a thought to appreciate the hypocrisy that some of them weren't what her mother would consider “decent folk”.

 

Zoe descended the steep stairs to the cellar in the guest house. There was a brief, vertiginous  moment when she passed through the normal area of the den into the crazy contrast of the stone walled area that held the cells.

She'd never really explored the guest house cellar when she was younger, as she'd always found it creepy, not helped by Lucas’s assertion that monsters lived down there. It had been a child's lie, but now at least it was partially true, though her family were the monsters that roamed its halls.

Most of the areas were empty, but there were signs that work was underway down here. Partitions were being constructed, and there were unopened wooden crates stacked in corners. She didn't know what sort of environment they were trying to create, but none of it looked inviting.

She found the cells without much difficulty, the route being fairly straightforward, though by now her arms were aching from carrying the tray. The first one she came to held a girl about her age - the one from the window the night before, she presumed. She was curled up on a cot, her hair over her face.

Zoe unloaded one of the plates and took the cover off. As she slid it under the door, the scraping sound alerted the girl to her presence, and she pawed her hair away from her face, one frightened eye peering out.

Zoe attempted a comforting smile.

“Just brought your supper,” she said, although from the look of the mess she was serving, she doubted it would be eaten.

“Are you one of them?” asked the girl.

Her voice sounded cultured and foreign.

“I am, but I'm not,” said Zoe. “If ya get what I mean.”

“Will you help me?”

The girl got up, running to the cell door, grasping the bars. She was beautiful, even with her tousled hair and tear stained face. Her skin was dusky and flawless.

“Please, let me out of here!”

Zoe shook her head sadly.

“They didn't give me the keys,” she said. “I can't let you out.”

The girl broke down crying.

“Leila and Nadine are dead! If you don't let me out, I will be too! Please…..”

“I can't. I'm so sorry.”

Zoe’s heart went out to her.

“Then get help. Here.”

She passed a slip of paper through the bars.

“My father's phone number. He is a very rich man. He will reward you. Please, call him. Tell him Fatima is in trouble. He will come.”

Fatima reached through the bars, grasping Zoe’s hand.

“And hurry! The one they call Lucas…..he comes to my cell and stares at me, but never speaks. I don't know what he will do.”

“I'll do my best,” said Zoe, slipping the paper into the pocket of her jeans.

She imagined calling Fatima’s rich father, and him sending hordes of people to help, with helicopters and guns. She imagined her family being raked with machine gun fire. Her hands trembled, but she managed a smile.

 

Her next stop was noisier.

“Hey! What the fuck is goin’ on here? Who the fuck are you? What the fuck is this?”

The man looked to be in his forties, though his face was deeply tanned and lined from a lifetime of being outdoors. His clothes were dirty and ragged, his beard matted, his voice rough.

He crowded up to the bars as she approached, his beer belly oozing between them like uncooked dough.

“Hey, girlie, lemme outta here! These fuckin’ freaks are keepin’ me locked up! I ain't done nothin’!”

“I can't let you out, sir. I don't have the keys.”

Zoe slid the plate under the door.

“What's this shit? Ya tryin’ ta poison me? I'm hungry, but I ain't gonna fuckin’ eat that! Bring me some decent fuckin’ food! An’ a beer! Two beers!”

“I don't have beers to give you,” said Zoe.

The man looked her up and down before giving her a gap toothed grin.

“How about a blow job then? Huh? I stick my dick through the bars, will you suck me off?”

“No.”

“Aw, shit. Come on. Suck it, princess. Here…..”

He started fumbling at his fly, and Zoe fled.

 

The last guest was another man, this one young. He was tall and well built with curly brown hair, and clean-cut good looks, and he stared at her in disbelief.

“Are you one of them?” he asked.

He'd been sitting on his cot when she drew level with his door, but stood when she began to unload her tray. Zoe made a point of not staring at him, though it was hard. He was the best thing she'd seen in months - better even than Mason.

“Kinda, but not really,” she said.

“You look normal…..” he said. “The others look batshit crazy.”

“They're my family,” Zoe told her, and he blushed. Blushed!

“I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything by it…..”

“Naw, that's ok. They _are_ batshit crazy.”

Zoe smiled at him, and he smiled back hesitantly.

“You're not, though.”

It was half a question, half a statement.

“Uh, not really. I mean, not in comparison.” She paused. “I'm Zoe.”

“Tyler.”

“Pleased to meet you, Tyler.”

“I'd say the same, but under the circumstances…..”

He looked around, shrugging.

“Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Tyler walked up to the bars, hanging his arms through. If the other guy had don it, Zoe would have backed away out of reach, but she didn't get any dangerous vibes from this one.

“I’m guessing you aren't gonna let me out.”

He didn't sound mad about it.

Zoe shook her head.

“I would if I could, but I can't. The don't trust me with the keys. I really am sorry.”

Shed been apologising a lot recently.

“That's ok,” sighed Tyler. “It was too much to hope for.”

He looked at the plate. His perfect lips curled in disgust.

“What's that?”

“It's meant to be supper, but I don't recommend you eat it. It'll make you sick.”

Zoe stepped in closer, conspiratorial, and Tyler dipped his head down to meet hers.

“Look, I can't promise anything, but I'll try an’ sneak you down somethin’ better, ok?” she said in a low voice. She was taking a chance even considering such a thing, but goddam, he was fine.

“Really?”

Tyler smiled at her. He was more than just fine: He was beautiful.

“Yeah. I'll do my best.”

There was a noise from upstairs - heavy footsteps on the boards overhead.

Zoe backed away from the bars, clutching her tray.

“I gotta go!”

Tyler watched her go, staring between the bars. He didn't try and stop her from leaving, which she appreciated, but his placid acceptance made her feel more guilty than the pleading or demands of the other two.

 

Zoe went back to the main house to drop off her tray.

Lucas and Marguerite were in the kitchen.

“Did they give ya any trouble?” asked Marguerite.

“Not really. That older guy wanted me to blow him.”

“Did you?” asked Lucas.

“What? Of course I didn't! Jesus, Lucas…..”

“Bet if that pretty boy’d asked, you’d o’ done it……” he muttered.

“Well, you been starin’ at Fatima,” countered Zoe.

“You seen ‘er, right? Course I fuckin’ stare! How’d you know ‘er name?”

“She told me, dum-dum!”

“I thought I told you not to talk to them!” admonished Marguerite.

“I didn't. They talked to me.”

Neither of them could argue, although her mother still looked like she wanted to pick fault.

“Anyways, it's about time you started pullin’ yer weight, young lady. Lazin’ around in that trailer, all high an’ mighty. From now on, you're in charge o’ feedin’ the guests, ya hear me?”

Zoe thought of Tyler. She was hoping she'd be able to see him again, but didn't want to appear too eager in case she aroused suspicion.

“Aw, Momma! Do I have to?”

“Yes you do! No freeloadin’ round here. You come in here tomorrow mornin’, serve ‘em breakfast.”

Zoe sighed, though inside she rejoiced.

“Ok, Momma.”

Lucas had been silent throughout the entire exchange, regarding her suspiciously. Zoe felt uncomfortable under his gaze. Was Eveline - that little spy - relaying the conversation between her and Tyler? Was it possible she knew?

“What you got in your pocket?” demanded Lucas suddenly.

Zoe frowned. The accusation had come out of nowhere.

“Nothin’,” she protested.

“Yeah, you do!”

Lucas was on her in an instant, his fingers digging into the pocket of her jeans. She could feel them squirming against her hip.

“Hey!”

She tried to shove him away, but he slapped her hands aside. He yanked a scrap of paper out and held it up triumphantly.

“What's this, then, huh?”

Zoe peered at it, realisation hitting her. In the excitement of meeting the young Adonis, she'd quite forgotten about the information Fatima had thrust upon her.

“Oh, that! I forgot. That girl gave it to me. It's her father's number. She wanted me to call for help.”

“And you was gonna do it!” spat Lucas.

“No I wasn't! Why would I do that? Holy fuck, will y’all get off my back for once!”

Lucas squinted at the number.

“She said he's rich.”

Marguerite perked up at that.

“Rich? We could use some money.”

She snatched the paper from her son and pinned it to the fridge with a magnet.

“I'll discuss it with your father. Now you two clear outta here, I gotta fix supper.”

 

Zoe started the walk back to her trailer, Lucas trailing along behind.

“Why are you followin’ me?” she snapped over her shoulder.

“I been meanin’ to ask you - you still got that letter Rosalie sent?”

Now it was Zoe's turn to be suspicious.

“Why?”

Lucas grinned. It looked dirty, and Zoe wanted to scrub her eyeballs with bleach after seeing it.

“I realised I was bein’ a little hasty when I threw it away. That photo she sent is gettin’ a little, uh, _wore out_ , an’ I thought maybe it would be nice to see her again. In the flesh, so to speak……”

Zoe grimaced.

“I ain't got it,” she lied. “You tossed it aside, remember? I don't know what happened to it!”

“Shit…..”

Lucas sighed, then brightened.

“I'll just track her down on Facebook, then! Her letter said she was on there, right?”

He whipped his phone from his pocket, his grin firmly back in place.

Zoe felt a stab of apprehension. She hadn't even realised that they still had internet, and her phone had disappeared whilst she'd been ill. There was no way of warning Rosalie.

 

Zoe appeared in the house bright and early the next day. She'd spent most of the previous night thinking about Tyler - lovely, sexy Tyler. There hadn't been any interesting dreams about him, sadly. In some ways, she missed the early days of Eveline’s dream wars, before she'd gotten all fucked up and started introducing Lucas. They had been interesting times before she'd known what the little bitch was up to.

Her mother had already prepared the tray, and Zoe felt her heart sink when she saw there were only two plates on it.

“Why two, Momma?”

“Your father is going to start processing one of them today. No need to waste food.”

“Which one?” asked Zoe casually, trying to keep her tone light.

Marguerite’s mouth pursed in disapproval.

“That fat one. I don't like what he said to you yesterday. Showed real disrespect, I thought. We don't need the likes o’ _him_ around!”

Zoe sighed with inward relief. It was ironic that her mother was offended by the man propositioning her after she herself had deemed it appropriate to set potentially lethal bugs on her daughter, but Zoe was becoming accustomed to the fucked up logic.

She set off towards the guest house.

 

Zoe had already stashed some untainted food in the bushes near her destination, and she added it to her tray before descending down the cellar stairs. She'd already decided to feed Fatima as well, and was glad she'd brought enough.

She could hear movement down by the cells, and the fat man unleashing a string of curses.

“Hey! You baldin’ old bastard! Lemme outta here, fucknuts! You got no right keepin’ me prisoner! This is America! Hey!”

“Shut yer fuckin’ mouth, asshole!” said her father in return.

Zoe hesitated at the corner. Out of all her family, for some reason her father scared her the most. Whether it was his size, or the fact that his first recourse would be violence, she didn't know. Out of all of them she'd always secretly loved him the most, so his transformation had been the harshest in her mind. He'd rarely ever raised his voice to her in the past, let alone his hand. She was anxious about coming face to face with him.

It took all her courage to walk around the corner. Fatima was crouched on her cot, her eyes wide and frightened. Zoe put her finger to her lips, pleading for quiet: She didn't want her father knowing she had any kind of rapport with the guests.

Fatima nodded, and Zoe quickly passed the plate of tainted grits along with a package of stale nuts and a bottle of water through the bars - all she was willing to spare the poor girl, much to her own chagrin. Fatima touched her hand, thanking her with her eyes.

“Whatya doin’, ya cocksucker?” demanded the man from the next cell along. “Ya lettin’ me out? Fuckin’ A! Yeah, that's right, ya shit head. Open that fuckin’ door. You'll be hearin’ from my fuckin’ lawyer.” There was a pause.

“Oh, shit…...no, put that away, man….that was just talk, I ain't gonna make any trouble! I swear! Please, don't hurt me! I gotta family!”

“So have I,” replied Jack in a conversational tone. “An’ I like to keep my little girl happy. So buckle up, motherfucker……”

There was a whistling sound of something large cutting through the air at speed, followed by a gristly thud. The angle of the wall hid the sight of what had happened, but Zoe saw the blood that splashed in a gaudy pattern across the floor. Fatima shrank away from the bars, her mouth a perfect “O” of horror.

Zoe didn't want to continue, but her father was sure to come her way on his way out. Plate rattling on the tray as she shook, Zoe rounded the corner.

The man lay spread eagled on the floor, most of his head missing. Jack was wiping the blade of his shovel clean with a rag, and barely looked up as she approached.

“Well, that's that noisy bastard dealt with,” he said. “Filthy mouth, he had. Won't be botherin’ you no more with his foulness.”

“Uh, thanks Daddy……”

“Glad to see you've come around an’ decided to help out more. Can use an extra pair o’ hands now we're gonna be busier.”

Zoe managed a weak smile and tried to step around the body that lay half out of the cell. Specks of blood sizzled against the heated glass of the bare bulb overhead where they had splashed and there was the reek of fresh shit in the air. The top of the man's skull had been sliced off in the same way that her father tackled boiled eggs, and the comparison made her stomach turn. His brain glistened up at her, and as she carefully picked her way along the corridor her heel skidded in a portion of brain matter, smearing it along the floor like snot.

She squealed loudly as her foot shot out from underneath her, toppling her sideways, the tray flying from her hands.

She had a soft landing.

The dead man’s stomach caved in beneath her, forcing a long, deep sound like a belch from its throat. In a frenzy of disgust she rolled off him, her elbow hitting the stone floor agonisingly, her hand coming down directly in a pool of blood.

Jack laughed as if it was the funniest thing he'd seen in a long time.

“Did ya have a nice trip, Zoe?” he bellowed, doubled over with laughter.

Zoe gagged, forcing herself to her feet, marking the wall with a bloody handprint as she used it for support.

“Never knew you was so clumsy! If he was alive, he'd o’ thought his luck was in, you throwin’ yerself at ‘im……” Jack wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “You best get yer tray an’ move on, ‘fore you have another accident. I'll clear up this mess.”

Whimpering, Zoe picked up her tray and went along to Tyler’s cell.

 

He'd evidently heard the commotion, and was waiting for her, holding the bars, his face drawn with concern. He didn't need to be warned about keeping quiet, mouthing “Are you ok?” as she drew level.

She nodded half-heartedly. Technically she was, but it was an experience she'd rather not repeat any time soon.

She could hear her father humming as he moved around, and the heavy dragging of the body being shifted.

By some miracle, when Zoe had fallen the cover on the plate hadn't been dislodged, and she lifted it up, showing him the food she'd smuggled in for him. He smiled at her, squeezing her arm. His touch raised goosebumps on her skin.

She could hear her father's voice some distance away.

_“This one's gonna make one big Molded, but he sure made one big mess. You make sure you get rid o’ all the blood an’ shit. It's unhygienic.”_

_“Why can't you clean up yer own fuckin’ mess?”_

Lucas’s voice, clearly peeved.

_“Why can't you stop your complainin’?”_

Zoe whispered to Tyler.

“I have to go. I'll bring you some more food later.”

“Be nice if we could talk some then,” he whispered back, his large brown eyes boring into her.

Zoe smiled, feeling suddenly shy. She didn't know if this nice young man had any real interest in her beyond escape, but it had been so long since she'd been able to talk to anyone normal that she didn't really care about his intentions.

She gave him a silent wave goodbye and walked away.

 

Lucas was leaning against the bars of Fatima’s cell, the hosepipe in a forgotten coil by his feet.

Zoe paused in the shadows just out of sight, watching him. He was staring, like Fatima said he did, a look of hunger on his face. Fatima sat primly on her cot, pointedly ignoring him.

Lucas licked his lips.

“Hey!” he stage-whispered.

She didn't acknowledge him. He flicked at the bars impatiently.

“Hey, you deaf or somethin’? Look at me!”

Fatima turned away, looking at the opposite wall. Lucas cursed.

“Aw, come on. Don't be like that!”

Zoe had heard that phrase from him hundreds of times during her life - always spoken as if the recipient of the plea was being wholly unreasonable, no matter what the circumstances. She was pissed at him because he'd cut her Barbie’s hair? “Don't be like that!” She didn't want to participate in whatever crazy scheme he'd hatched? “Don't be like that!” It suited all occasions, and implied that it was never his fault. It could be infuriating.

Now, however, it held more sinister connotations - there was the hint of threat behind it.

“Listen, I just wanna help you!” he continued.

A flicker of interest showed on Fatima’s face, mixed with disbelief.

“You wanna get outta there, right? I can get you out…..”

Fatima turned her head, finally deigning to look at him.

“You would do that?”

She didn't sound convinced, but hope was a powerful emotion.

Lucas grinned.

“Aw yeah! For you? Course I would!”

She regarded him suspiciously.

“And what would you want in return?”

Lucas chuckled, a filthy sound.

“Well, that's up to you, ain't it? I'll take whatever yer prepared to give up, sweetie. Don't have to be a fuck, you don't wanna. I'll settle for a suck.”

She lifted her chin.

“I would rather die.”

Lucas kicked at the bars in fury.

“Well fine, then, ya stuck up bitch! Fuckin’ rot here! Jus’ remember when yer dyin’ that it's cuz you were too proud to give Lucas the time o’ day!”

He picked up the hosepipe.

”You think yer fuckin’ special? Well, you ain't! Soon enough you'll just be another one o’ Eveline’s little pets.”

He turned from the cell door in disgust, finally spotting Zoe. He let out a little yelp of surprise, looking both guilty and embarrassed, but attempted to cover it with bluster.

“What the fuck you doin’ skulkin’ round in the shadows, spyin’ on people?” he demanded.

Zoe shrugged.

“Just curious. Was that how the girls escaped the other night? Cuz you were tryin’ to get sexual favours?”

“No!”

He was lying, she could tell. Even under Evie’s influence, he was a terrible liar. Her mother had never been able to spot the subtle clues, but Zoe had. The way his eyes darted to the left, the minute, involuntary tic at the corner of his mouth. _Micro-expressions_ , they were called.

Zoe laughed.

“You fuckin’ were! Oh, this is beautiful. What does Eveline think of all this?”

Lucas was silent, his eyes moving in little, trapped circles.

“She don't know, does she?” crowed Zoe. “Little Miss Perfect don't know you been bargaining with the prisoners for sex! I'll ask you again: Is that how the girls escaped the other night?”

“No!” yelled Lucas, but he was floundering.

“It was,” chipped in Fatima. “Nadine said she would do what he wanted, and when he opened the gate, we rushed him. He grabbed Nadine’s arm and broke it, but we got away. For a time…..”

Zoe clapped her hands in delight.

“Oh! The golden boy fucked up! This is great, Lucas!”

“Don't tell ‘er, Zoe! I'm warnin’ you!”

“Or what?” demanded Zoe. “What will you fuckin’ do that ain't already been done?”

“I'll make what I did a while ago look like a walk in the park!” snarled Lucas. “I'll fuck you up so bad you'll be shittin’ out yer own eyeballs……”

Zoe snorted.

“I'll take my chances, brother dear. It'll be worth it to see what Evie does when she finds out you were gonna let Fatima go in return for a blow job.”

“But I weren't!” wailed Lucas. “I can't! I don't even have the fuckin’ keys!”

“You don't have the keys?” shrieked Fatima. “You were bargaining with nothing all along?”

Lucas shrugged.

“They took the keys off me when you three got out. Said I couldn't be fuckin’ trusted.”

He looked her up and down slowly.

“Can't blame a man for tryin’.”

Fatima spat on the floor by his feet and turned away, her arms folded.

Lucas glowered at her and turned his attention back to Zoe.

“I meant what I said. You better not tell the others.”

“An’ I meant what I said,” Zoe retorted, holding her ground.

They stood facing each other, neither one backing down. In truth, Zoe didn't know how hard Eveline would be on Lucas, but the fact that he was so scared of the consequences gave her a rare feeling of power.

Lucas’s fingers twitched, and in a split second he had attacked, but Zoe was ready for him. She still held the sturdy metal tray she'd been carrying the plates on, and held it up as he threw his punch. His hand connected with a clang, driving her backwards. A perfect imprint of his fist dented the tray in front of her face, accompanied by the crunch of the fragile bones in his hands splintering.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” he howled, trying to sidestep, but she swung the tray out in a short arc, knocking his head sideways.

There was a crash on the stairs.

“What in the fuck is goin’ on down there?” bawled Jack from the stairway.

Zoe opened her mouth to speak, but Lucas’s hand clamped over her mouth. She bit down, tasting the peppery flavour of his unwashed hand, feeling the flesh part between her teeth. Blood flooded her mouth, sharp copper and the penicillin-sourness of the mold. He tried to wrench his hand free, but she worried at it like a terrier, the bones he'd fractured from his punch still loose. A finger separated, and she held it in her mouth like a trophy, fierce triumph coursing through her.

She kicked out at his balls, doubling him over, and spat the greasy finger onto the floor.

Zoe pulled air into her lungs.

“DaddyLucasisbeatin’meup! He let the prisoners go in return for sex! He was gonna do it again!”

She darted away from her brother's grasp, charging towards the stairs.

“That horny little fucker! I knew it!”

Jack appeared in the doorway, his shovel raised like a club.

“Get upstairs, Zoe - I'll deal with this. Let's see what your little sister has to say about this…..”

“Dad, no! Don't tell’ er! Don't tell Evie, pleeaaasse!”

Zoe ran, taking the stairs three at a time.

She felt sick, from the taste of her brother's blood and from the guilt that tried to force its way in to her psyche, but she couldn't allow it to take hold. She might suffer for her actions in the future, but for now revenge was sweet, the sensation blotting out all else.


	13. Indulgence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Lucas's punishment and sexy-times for Zoe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happier with this chapter. Zoe gets some gratification, and surprisingly so does Lucas.
> 
> Lots of gore too.
> 
> Nsfw.

Whatever Eveline thought of Lucas's transgression, her punishment was ominously quiet.

Zoe listened from her trailer for any sounds of violence, but heard nothing.

She was nervous. If Eveline had decided to be lenient, Lucas’s revenge on Zoe for telling on him was sure to be elaborate and painful.

At suppertime, Zoe could hold out no longer, and reported in at the main house for her duties. The atmosphere was outwardly peaceful - Marguerite cooking something foul in a large pot on the stove, Jack sharpening his shovel whilst the tv played in the background. He was watching the news with half an eye - a report about three missing college girls and a missing hitchhiker. The fat man wasn't mentioned - evidently he had nobody to miss him, despite his claims of a family.

“They got no leads,” announced Jack as the report ended. “That's somethin’, I guess. Lucas may be an idiot but as least he's fuckin’ discreet, it seems.”

“That's nice, cher,” said Marguerite absently.

She was serving some kind of stew for the guests. It had the trademark grey hue of mold infection, and Zoe felt queasy watching greasy loops of something stringy slop from the ladle into the bowl.

“That looks almost too good to waste on ‘em,” remarked Jack, eyeing the mess hungrily. “Them girls might have been useless in one way, but I'm glad we could have them for supper!”

He burst out laughing at his own remark, and Zoe was confused about what the joke was, until she saw her mother spoon out a portion that had a finger swimming in the gravy. It had a perfectly manicured nail.

The room swayed around her, the walls seeming to bend inward. Zoe clutched the edge of the counter for support, lights dancing in front of her eyes, her hearing muffled.

Marguerite looked at her in concern.

“Are you ok, cher?”

Her voice held the merest suggestion of her old affection, and for some reason that made everything worse.

“I'm fine, Momma,” lied Zoe, her voice sounding far away.

She took some deep breaths, deliberately biting down on her tongue, and the pain made everything snap back into focus. She managed a shaky smile.

Marguerite loaded up the tray. It still had Lucas’s fist print in it.

There were three bowls.

“Why three, Momma? We got another guest?”

Marguerite glanced over at Jack worriedly, but he seemed preoccupied with flicking through the channels.

“One's for yer brother,” she whispered. “Don't tell your father!”

So Lucas was still down in the cells. It explained why she hadn't heard anything.

“He might need your help eatin’,” added Marguerite.

Zoe nodded and took the tray. She held it as far away from herself as was comfortably possible, and left the room.

 

Once outside, she dumped the contents of two of the bowls into the bushes, heaving wretchedly as she watched fat sections of intestine and the finger slide out.

Her mother was cooking people now. Not just any people, but ones that the mold had rejected. Leila and Nadine were stew, now. Maybe in the coming days they'd also be soup and casserole and steaks and jerky.

 

Fatima was waiting for her by the bars, her face troubled.

“Are you ok?” asked Zoe.

“I am. But your brother…...I don't know what they did to him, but it took a long time, and was very loud.”

In the silence that followed her statement, a low moan could be heard coming from the cell the big man had inhabited.

“He still suffers,” said Fatima. “I should not feel sorry for him after what he has done, but - “

She shrugged helplessly.

“I do not like to hear it.”

That morning, Zoe had been full of sick gladness at the prospect of her brother being punished, but faced with the reality she was suddenly sick with guilt. She didn't want to round that corner and see the aftermath of what had been done to him, to face up to the consequences Lucas had suffered as a result of her actions, but she had to.

Screwing up her courage in a hard ball, she walked on shaking legs to the next cell.

 

It was a lot for a human mind to take in. Zoe’s brain, faced with the sight of her mutilated brother, tried to sort out the crazed jumble, tried to fit it into some kind of compartment where it would make sense,  but the effort only confused her further.

The cell door had been left open, most likely because nobody had envisioned Lucas going anywhere, and she went inside.

At first glance, she couldn't place what was wrong, just that something was. Zoe blinked, hoping the picture would change when her eyes opened, but it remained the same.

“Lucas……?”

“Zoe…..help me…..”

His voice sounded strange, strangled.

Her brother had been stripped down to his underwear, his clothes a dirty heap in the corner, and he was face down…..except he wasn't……

She could see the stringed bumps that made up his spine above the waistband of his shorts, but below, instead of the swell of his scrawny ass, was the lump of his crotch. There was a shiny red scar all around his waist, raw looking and dreadful.

His face looked at the ceiling, directly above the wings of his shoulder blades. And his arms and legs……

“Holy fucking shit!”

Zoe dropped the tray with a clang as the realisation hit her.

Someone - probably her father under the guidance of Eveline - had taken her brother apart and deliberately put the pieces back in the wrong places.

He'd been decapitated, his head turned round and placed on his neck backwards. His torso had been split in half and twisted in the middle, his arms and legs amputated and placed with his arms at his thighs and his legs at his shoulders. As a further indignity, the limbs were also on the wrong side.

The regenerative, healing effects of the mold had done their best to fix him, muscles and tendons and cells and nerves splicing together, trying to put him back together again even though everything was in the wrong place. He looked like a warped doll, and the agony written on his face was plain.

“It hurts, Zoe…..” he croaked.

His larynx had been split in half during the procedure, and had attempted to meld with his spine.

Zoe couldn't begin to imagine what weird links had been made within his body, how the organs had joined together, what routes they had taken. Somehow, the way his skinny arms had tried to mold into the slightly meatier flesh of his thighs was the worst, the puckered scarring ugly and warped.

“Oh, shit, Lucas….I'm so sorry! I didn't think it'd be so bad!”

She sank down on her knees beside him. He'd beaten her and threatened to do worse, but faced with this wreck of his body all she could think about was how he'd brought her water when she was suffering, and how he'd beaten her father with a crowbar to win her one measly can of ravioli.

“What can I do, Lucas?”

“You gotta take me apart…..put me together right…..”

She shrank away from him in horror.

“I can't do that!”

She felt a presence behind her, a creeping feeling at her back.

“Yes you can,” said Eveline.

Zoe turned. The girl was looking down at her disdainfully.

“He deserved his punishment. He was careless. But you made it happen. So your punishment is to put him right. Or live with it.”

“Evie, please! Can't Daddy - ?”

“No! I won't allow anyone else to do it. It has to be you.”

She nodded to the corner where his clothes had been tossed.

“There's a machete and a saw over there. They've been sharpened for you. Use them on him. Or he stays like this.”

She disappeared.

Zoe looked down at her brother, his eyes pleading with her.

Weeping, she got to her feet and dragged herself over to the corner. A brief search turned up the tools Eveline had mentioned, but the sight of the gleaming metal made her falter, the teeth of the saw cold and impersonal, the razor edge of the machete brutal and cruel.

“Please Zoe…..”

Wiping her eyes, Zoe carried the items over to Lucas’s twisted form.

“Where should I start?”

“Maybe….do ma arms….an’ legs first…..then…..I might be able…..to help……”

She nodded, looking from the saw to the machete and back again. The machete might be quicker, but she was worried about the precision of just hacking away, so she set it down and brandished the saw instead.

“Ok. Here we go,” she said, and laid the saw teeth against her brother's thigh.

 

It took a long time, and it was very messy.

Lucas was stoic throughout, though Zoe puked more than once, crawling off to the drainage ditch at the mouth of the cell to do it.

The saw cut through flesh easily, but when it came to the bone it grated and she had to stop in case it became to blunt. She had to use the machete to separate the joints, the crackling of the gristle making her nearly pass out in revulsion.

Several times, she had to stop, blinded by her tears, but she always took up her tools again to finish the job.

She managed to get all four limbs amputated, and it took some serious mental juggling to work out where each should go, as she had to bear in mind that his torso was also the wrong way round.

When she first placed his leg against the raw stump of his thigh, there was a weird, sucking pull as the tiny threads of tissue sought each other out, and she could actually see the veins and arteries wavering towards their counterparts as though they were sentient. It had sent her reeling away to compose herself, but she had returned to see the task through.

The stringy, linked messes of conjoined limbs had been loose, and Lucas told her it would take a while for them to mesh properly, so Zoe hurried to her trailer to fetch the remaining bottle of goop to hurry the process along.

With his arms and legs in place, Zoe once again had to process the wrongness of what she was seeing.

The top half of his body looked as though he was part way through a push-up, his arms bent, his chest and palms against the floor, while the bottom half seemed like he was about to sit up.

She knew what she had to do next, while he was still able to advise her, but had to mentally prepare herself for the tangle of guts she was about to face.

She felt for the place where his back joined his abdomen, poising the saw beneath the last vertebrae. His navel was on the other side of the blade.

“Here goes then,” she said faintly, and cut.

The smell was abominable as she sawed through his middle, bowels and intestines parting, flooding the floor with blood and shit and undigested food. His gall bladder spilled yellow bile.

Zoe had nothing left to throw up, and she dry heaved constantly, her eyes streaming as she choked down spit.

Lucas tried not to moan, though his face registered pain, and blood dribbled from his mouth as he twisted his head.

“Fuck!” he spat between gore smeared teeth, a fine spray of blood showering his back.

Zoe knelt in the disgusting mess she'd created and continued to saw.

 

The lower half of his body had been heavy, but she managed to wrangle it over using his hip bones as handles, wedging the pieces together, her hands slippery.

There was very little of the medicinal goop left, so she could only sprinkle a fine drizzle of it over the join. She needed to save some for his head.

Lucas’s face looked more relaxed once she'd completed that task, his eyelids drooping as if he were sleepy.

“Jus’ ma head now…..” he slurred. “Use th’ m’chete….chop it off….quicker…..”

Zoe wiped her hands on her jeans and took the handle in both fists, eyeing the scar where she had to cut.

“I don't know if I can do this…..” she whimpered.

Lucas closed his eyes.

“Do it…..” he muttered.

She made a nick in the skin to give herself something to aim for, then raised the machete over her shoulder and brought it down as hard as she could.

 

His head was also surprisingly heavy, and lacked appropriate handholds, but she gripped it by the ears as it rocked on the floor.

His eyelids fluttered disquietingly, a hint of the whites showing, and his lips moved as though he was trying to speak. She rolled it over, trying to hold it in place, but his big nose made it difficult to keep it steady, so she had to cradle his face in one hand in order to line up his neck.

She could have lived without the squelching sound the pulp of his neck stump made when she sandwiched the edges together, but after all the previous unpleasantness she reminded herself that it was just the last thing she had to tolerate. She emptied the final droplets of goop onto the back of his neck, and waited as it sizzled.

His lips twitched against her fingers, and she felt the stir of hot breath, a gasp that rattled through his chest. His eyelids fluttered, the lashes tickling the webbing of her thumb. He groaned.

His body tensed, and she felt the weight of his head lift.

“You done Zoe?” he asked, his voice still crackly but clearer now. “Am I right now?”

“Yeah, Lucas. You're right now.”

She sat back on her haunches as he pushed himself up off the floor, onto his knees. He was covered in filth from his neck to his thighs.

Part of her thought to be scared now he was put back together, as it was possible he'd be bent on revenge, but she was so exhausted now she could scarcely move.

He looked down at himself, then at her.

“Fuckin’ look at us. Look like we been wrestlin’ in a slaughterhouse.”

“Hose is still down here. You want me to hose you off?” she offered.

“Yeah. Then I'll do you.”

Zoe nodded and struggled to her feet. The hosepipe was already attached to the faucet, and she uncoiled it wearily.

“You mad at me Lucas?” she asked as she worked.

“Naw. Guess I should be, but it feels too good to be put right. An’ ya worked real hard, so thanks.”

Zoe turned on the faucet full force and aimed the jet of freezing water at her brother. It hit him in the chest, and he squealed, eliciting a tired giggle from her. It reminded her of the water fights they'd have in summer when they were kids.

She started to cry as she hosed him down, but such was the jumble of her emotions that she was laughing too as he spluttered and yelped. Once he was clean, dripping and shivering in his soaking wet shorts, she handed him the hose and submitted to her turn.

He shot it right in her face, laughing, and even though the cold water was shocking, she laughed with him. It was a ridiculous situation after such a traumatic experience, but she could appreciate the dark humour of it.

She folded her arms across her breasts as rinsed her off. A hot shower would have been preferable, but she didn't want the filth and grime against her skin a second longer than necessary. Besides, the coldness was almost spiritually cleansing as well as physically. She felt like she deserved the discomfort, erasing the bad feelings, waking her tired soul.

Lucas turned off the water and they regarded each other cautiously. 

“Truce?” he suggested.

Zoe nodded.

“Yeah. I don't want that ta happen again.”

“Fuckin’ right! Neither do I.”

He extended a hand, and she took it gingerly, still half expecting him to drag her towards him and sink his teeth into her throat, but he merely gave it one brief pump before releasing it.

“Well. Till next time, anyways,” he pondered. “Somethin’ else might crop up, but this here - this is over, far as I'm concerned.”

She nodded. She understood completely.

Lucas gathered up his clothes and left the cell without a backward glance.

 

Zoe sat on the edge of the cot. At this point, she just wanted to sleep, but she could hear a voice calling to her.

“Zoe? Are you okay? Zoe?”

“That you, Tyler?” she murmured. 

“Yeah! I'm worried about you…..”

She got up and wandered down the corridor to his cell. Sweet that he should be worried about her when he was lined up to become some sort of monster.

He was up against the cell door, his face full of concern.

“I don't even know what you just had to do, but from here it sounded fucking awful!” he said as she approached.

“It was,” she admitted.

She was still cold, still tired, still wet. She leaned against the bars with a sigh. His hands crept through hesitantly, one stroking the wet hair on the back of her neck, the other curling around her shoulders. He was warm and gentle and she relaxed blissfully under his touch.

“You poor thing,” he muttered. “What hell have you been through?”

“All kinds…..” she whispered. “You wouldn't believe it.”

“I wish I could get out of here, take you somewhere safe.”

“Me too.”

She felt the hesitant press of his lips against her forehead, giving her time to back away, but there was nothing that would make her do that. She moved herself closer, pressing full length against the bars, feeling the heat coming from him.

She tilted her face up to his expectantly, and he didn't disappoint, his mouth closing over hers softly.

This - this was exactly what she needed. Zoe squirmed her hands through the bars, finding the belt loops on his jeans and hooking her fingers through them, pulling him towards her. He wriggled awkwardly, trying to hide the growing lump at his crotch, but she wasn't going to allow him to do that, grinding up against him as far as the bars would allow. She opened her mouth, giving him permission to do the same, and his tongue flicked against hers, her teeth closing delicately on his bottom lip.

He made a noise, lust or longing or both, deep in his throat, his hands gliding down to cup her ass through the wet denim of her jeans. She bit down slightly, spurring him on, and he squeezed her, fingers digging into her flesh.

He pulled away slightly, looking down at her, his eyes large with wonder.

“Are you sure this is appropriate?” he asked with a hint of primness, even as she felt his grip release and wander under the hem of her top, peeling the wet fabric away from her skin and crawling underneath.

Zoe laughed.

“No, I ain't sure it is, but god! Do I want it!”

He groaned as he found her breasts, nipples already teased to hardness by the cold water. He rolled them in his fingers, tweaking them as he murmured to her.

“I've been thinking about you ever since I saw you yesterday,” he admitted. “And I wouldn't normally take things this fast, but under the circumstances…….”

“Uh-huh,” she breathed, agreeing or understanding, she didn't care which, as long as he kept doing what he was doing.

She felt him pulling her top up, exposing her, and he stooped, pressing his forehead to the bars. She arched her back to help him, feeling his tongue on the wrinkled bud of her nipple before his lips tightened around it, sucking. She moaned, cradling his head through the cell door. She wasn't particularly well endowed - one guy she'd known briefly had insisted on calling her Pancake - so she didn't normally attract tit-men, which was a shame because above all else she  _ loved _ having her nipples sucked. And Tyler was good at it, taking his time, trapping one between his teeth and lashing at it with his tongue before moving to the other, his hand reaching up to occupy the one he'd abandoned.

“Oh, holy shit, that's good,” said Zoe. “You can fuckin’ do that as long as you like!”

His free hand pressed flat between her shoulder blades, bringing her in even closer, his lips nipping gently at the tender undersides of her breasts, before sucking at her nipples again. She tugged at his curls, her fingers tightening into fists. She'd told him to take as long as he wanted, but now she was impatient, her pussy wet and twitching.

As if reading her thoughts, he began to undo her jeans, and she quickly moved to help him. It was difficult to ease the clinging, damp denim over her hips but she did so eagerly, pulling them down her thighs, taking her panties with them.

He had thick fingers, and she squeaked in delight as they made a beeline for her clit, finding the slippery nub unerringly and teasing it with gentle stroking motions. He cupped her ass again, one huge hand covering both cheeks, kneading them intimately.

She groaned in disappointment as his mouth left her breasts, only to see that it was because he was going down on his knees.

“Fuck yeah,” she muttered between gritted teeth, hopping ridiculously as she struggled to get one leg out of her jeans.

He waited patiently, his breath hot against her mons, until she had managed it. She braced her legs apart, grabbing his curls again to push his head downwards. He pushed his face up to the bars. She felt his neck muscles straining as his tongue flicked out, sliding between her labia and taking up where his fingers had left off. He licked her with little darting motions, trying to get closer, and she threaded her bare leg through the bars, curling it round his shoulder. It was tricky, but she managed to push her hips forward that way, and his tongue picked up pace, lapping greedily at her clit.

“Aw, fuck, Tyler, that's nice…..”

He mumbled against her groin.

“I can't get close enough,” he complained, still licking between words. “I want to do it properly.”

Zoe had an idea.

“Hang on!”

She reluctantly released his head and sank down onto the floor. The cold stone under her bare ass was, in theory, very uncomfortable, but it added an extra sensation into the mix, pinpointing her exposure in this unsuitable place. Carefully, she put one foot between the bars, her other between two bars further along. Grinning, Tyler grabbed her ankles and pulled her towards him obligingly.

“Clever….” he commented, as the the bars forced her legs open, bringing her up tight against them, her pussy framed helpfully, ready for his attention.

Bowing his head, he resumed his ministrations, this time able to apply more of his tongue, the whole length stroking her clit skillfully. She sighed happily, lying back on the bare floor, lazily playing with her tits as he went to work. Two fingers slid into her waiting pussy, twitching against the walls, and he sucked the glossy bud between his lips.

Whoever had taught him his technique had done a good job, and Zoe tensed her thighs around the bars.

“Aw, Tyler, you good, dirty boy,” she moaned, her head rolling on her neck. She pinched her nipples, harder than he would have dared, lifting her hips to his face.

He curled his fingers inside her, teasing at her g-spot, and she gasped.

“You're a fuckin’ angel,” she told him. “This is just what I fuckin’ needed…..oh, yeah, keep doin’ that, keep doin’ that, I'm gettin’ there honey, don't you stop, now……”

He renewed his attack, making little grunts of pleasure, his tongue rolling amongst the slick folds, his fingers becoming ever more intrusive.

“Oh shit, that's it, Tyler, I'm gunna come now!”

Clenching her teeth together, Zoe flattened her hands on the floor, arms straining as she pushed her ass up. Tyler’s hand gripped her hip, grinding his face into her groin, slurping up her juices with every sign of enjoyment, grazing at her clit with his teeth.

She wanted to scream as she came, to let everything out at the top of her lungs, but she was very aware of Fatima further along. She stuffed the side of her hand into her mouth, muffling her noises, feeling the slow warmth build, the delicious tingling clenching her pussy.

Tyler gave her g-spot one last probe, and she was there, the muscles of her abdomen tensing as the bliss spread through her, flowing from her cunt and filling her belly.

It was good - it was perfect - and he didn't stop. She squawked against the flesh of her hand as another orgasm began to climb, unrelenting, torturous, fucking wonderful.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she came again, grinding her pussy into his face. He held her fast as the aftershocks died down, the spasms weakening, before releasing her, lifting his face, gulping in breath.

Zoe took her hand from her mouth. There were deep teeth marks imprinted on it.

“Woah, shit,” she mumbled.

Tyler grinned. There was cuntslime smeared around his mouth and chin.

“You ok?” he asked.

“I'm better than ok, honey,” she replied, struggling to sit up. “An’ I oughta return the favour.”

Tyler shook his head.

“Much as I'd love that, they might be getting suspicious up there. That was all for you. I'll take an IOU, though. Maybe in the morning?”

He raised an eyebrow hopefully. She smiled at him.

“It would be my pleasure.”

She got a sloppy kiss goodbye before she left, laced with her own juices.

 

Zoe passed Fatima on the way out, trying to ignore the girl's expression, tinged with disapproval. She was thinking about the keys and how she could get them - not just for whatever she could do with Tyler, and she wanted to do a lot, but because no matter what the consequences there was no way she could let Fatima or Tyler die.

Coming out into the open air she discovered that it was dark, and she wondered how long she'd been down there. It must have taken her hours to put Lucas right, and add to that what she'd done with Tyler….

She smiled to herself. He surely had to be one of the most unselfish men she'd ever been with. Even if he was just doing it in the hope of eventual escape, she was sure there weren't many men who would turn down the offer of a blow job after the hard work and effort they'd put in.

She reached her trailer and swung open the door, ready to slump onto her bed and go to sleep, but Eveline was there, kicking her feet as she waited.

She'd never come into Zoe’s trailer before. It couldn't have been out of respect for Zoe's personal space, as Evie didn't seem to know that such a thing existed, and she wondered why the child was there now.

“Hi, Eveline,” she said as pleasantly as she could manage.

She felt the probing of the girl's curiosity, plunging into her mind, and steeled herself for the exploration. She'd learned, mostly, how to shield parts of her thoughts from view, but Eveline’s casual investigation still irked her.

“You did a good job on Lucas, “ remarked Eveline, still rummaging.

“Thanks, Evie. Uh, what’re you doin’?”

“Trying to find out why you're suddenly so helpful……” said the child.

Zoe considered her options carefully.

“Because I been bored. An’ because I realise there ain't no point in fightin’ you.”

Eveline stared at her for an uncomfortably long time before finally seeming to believe her explanation.

“You should be careful, though,” she said. “I can see you're becoming friendly with that girl.”

Zoe had been concentrating so hard on hiding her involvement with Tyler that she'd left Fatima out in the open.

“You know that can't happen, Zoe. I was going to leave her for a few days, but I think we'll have to process her sooner.”

Zoe fought to keep any distress from showing on her face.

Eveline studied her carefully.

“In fact, I think we'll do her tomorrow. And when I say ‘we’, I mean ‘you’.”

“What……?”

Zoe felt faint for the umpteenth time that day. She'd been through a lot since she'd gotten up this morning, and this could be the thing that would break her.

“You're going to kill her, Zoe. It's a test. To see how much you want to be a part of this family.”

She smiled.

“I won't do it!” blurted Zoe, and Eveline laughed.

“Yes you will. Otherwise I'll have one of the others kill Tyler while you watch.”

There was a sudden rush of air and darkness, and Eveline’s face was looming in front of hers.

“You can't hide things from me, sister……”

 

Despite her weariness when she'd entered the trailer, Eveline’s revelation had been like a dash of cold water to the face and a shot of espresso at the same time.

Zoe was wide awake, all thoughts of sleep driven from her mind . How could she sleep knowing what lay in store?

She paced the short length of the trailer over and over, her stomach a twisted mess of anxiety and dread.

Could she do it, to save Tyler for another day? Would she do it?

What options did she have?

The keys. She needed the keys. Where would they be?

Her father had to have them.

Did those fuckers sleep any more? Could she sneak in and get them?

She paced some more.

It was risky, but she had to try. Tyler was going to die eventually, unless she could save him.

And poor Fatima, the beautiful girl with the rich father…...Zoe could kill her and win the trust of her family and get the keys that way, but would she be able to live with herself afterwards?

No. 

Manipulated, blackmailed, bribed - it didn't matter. It would still be her choice ultimately.

She had to at least try.

 

Zoe was glad her stomach was empty or she would have vomited again for sure.

The dog head door was locked. Probably to stop any more escape attempts. The girls had to have been utterly confused to believe that their escape lay through the main house that night - unless Lucas had brought them there for fun and games.

Zoe tried to imagine their panic as they rushed around trying to find a way out, only going deeper and deeper into the web.

Once all this was over, she resolved to draw floor plans of all the buildings, maps with exit points clearly marked, that she would leave lying around for the benefit of future escapees.

Zoe hung around on the verandah, uncertain of her next course of action.

If she tried to break in, would she be discovered? If she requested access, would that thwart her attempt before she'd even begun?

She was hovering, undecided, when the door flew open, framing Mia.

 

The huddled together in the main hall.

“I saw you come over,” whispered Mia. “Are you going to have another try at get the arm?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Zoe. “Figured Momma would be busy.”

“Great! There's a problem, though.”

“What's that?”

“Lucas has been changing the locks on all the doors. They're all coded. Scorpions, crows, snakes. To get up to the room in the old house, you'll need a crow key.”

“An’ where's that?” sighed Zoe.

Mia turned and looked at the scorpion door.

Zoe stared in horror.

“Down  _ there _ ?”

Mia nodded.

“They keep all the keys down there, in one of the rooms.”

_ All the keys….. _

“How do I get down there?” asked Zoe.

“Lucas has the scorpion key.”

“Well, shit! This just keeps gettin’ better an’ fuckin’ better! How the hell are we meant to get the key so we can get the fuckin’ key?”

Mia went quiet.

“I, uh, think I could get it. Or at least get the door open,” she said finally.

“Really?”

Zoe tried not to make the disbelief in her voice too apparent, but it was difficult.

“How?”

Mia sighed, a long drawn out gust of breath that held month's worth of discontent.

“Wait here. Hide. I'll be back soon, one way or the other.”

 

There was a cramped closet under one staircase, cluttered with junk, but Zoe managed to squeeze inside and pull the door mostly closed.

Mia had turned out the light when she'd left, and the hall was dark, crowded with shadows. Zoe hoped it would be enough to conceal her presence.

Feeling claustrophobic, she waited, wondering what Mia had planned.

She shifted position, easing her muscles. The crap in the closet with her forced her into a partial crouch and it was making her legs ache. Her movement stirred up dust that tickled her nose, bearing the vaguest threat of a sneeze. Great. Another thing to worry about.

One of the double doors creaked open, casting a wedge of light across the floor that disappeared when the door was closed again. Zoe heard whispering.

“So what d’ya want that's so fuckin’ important?” demanded Lucas.

His voice still sounded hoarse from his ordeal earlier.

“You mean you don't know? I dropped enough fucking hints, Lucas……”

Mia’s voice sounded different, somehow. The dull edge of defeat that was customary in her speech was gone, to be replaced by a lighter tone that sounded almost flirtatious.

“You did?”

Lucas sounded puzzled, and Zoe could imagine that frown, the little wrinkle between his eyebrows, as he tried to figure out what she'd been implying.

“Yes, Lucas! Jeez…..what's a girl got to do around here to get laid, huh?”

Zoe’s mouth dropped open in the closet.

“What? Oh. Oh!…..right…..um….okay……”

He sounded flustered but not at all reluctant. Mia giggled. It sounded totally alien.

“So is that a yes?” she asked.

“Well, yeah, but…..why?”

“I have needs you know, Lucas. I've been lonely.”

There was a muffled noise that sounded like a kiss.

“Well, shit. Okay Mia. You only had to ask.”

Zoe heard the rattle of a belt buckle, and cringed.

“Not here!” said Mia hurriedly. “I don't really relish the idea of your parents bursting in on us.”

“Upstairs, then?”

Now he was invested in the idea, Lucas sounded desperate.

“Where Eveline is?” asked Mia.

“Oh, right.”

Lucas laughed, sounding bashful.

“Where, then?”

“I don't know,” said Mia sadly. “Maybe this wasn't such a good idea….”

“Yes it was! It was a great idea! C’mon, Mia - don't be like that…..You want to, don't you?”

“Of course.”

“Then we'll find somewhere…..”

There were more kissing sounds, sloppy and hurried.

“How about…..down there?” suggested Mia.

“In the fuckin’  _ cellar _ ?”

Mia giggled again.

“Yeah, in the  _ fucking _ cellar.”

“I dunno…..”

Now Lucas sounded reluctant. They were close to where Zoe was hidden, and she could see their shadows, close together, moving.

Mia did something, and Zoe heard Lucas gasp, followed by a groan.

“Oh, fuck…..okay, yeah….let's do it in the cellar! Hold up, I gotta get the key.”

“I thought you already had it.”

“That, uh, that weren't the key you felt.”

Mia giggled again, a flirty laugh that sounded wholly convincing even to Zoe.

Lucas set off at a run, pounding up the stairs.

Once she was sure he was out of earshot, Mia spoke.

“You there, Zoe?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I'm not sure exactly where the keys are. Check the upper rooms first. I'll try and keep him distracted as long as possible…….”

“Prolly won't be that long, judgin’ by how excited he's soundin’....” muttered Zoe, and was answered by a strangled sound from Mia that she realised was stifled but genuine laughter.

It was infectious. Even though she was about to risk her life, Zoe found herself giggling too, thinking of Lucas sprinting up the stairs to fetch the key. Mia heard her, and it sent her into a fresh peal, spluttering as she tried to be quiet.

A door banged upstairs.

“There ya go,” whispered Zoe between sniggers. “That's how fast he's gonna be….”

Mia made a choking sound.

“Stop it,” she begged in a squealy little gasp. “I’m gonna pee myself!”

Both women attempted to get themselves under control as Lucas descended the stairs.

“What's wrong with you?” he asked the breathless Mia, suspicious.

“Just excited, Lucas. That's all.”

“I thought I heard laughin’......”

“That wasn't laughing, honey. I was just getting myself ready. Feel…..”

There was a short silence.

“Oh…..oh wow….you sure are wet, Mia…….”

Zoe had to stuff her fist in her mouth before she exploded with laughter.

“Come on then, lover,” said Mia seductively. “This isn't gonna fuck itself.”

Zoe caught a glimpse of them walking towards the door. Mia seemed to be leading her brother by the crotch.

“Leave it unlocked. We might have to leave in a hurry.”

“Ok.”

 

Zoe waited, listening to them going down the stairs.

Poor Mia. Zoe had no intention of looking for the crow key, and she felt guilty, but she'd get over it. She had to take the chance that the cell keys would be down there.

She heard the cellar door shut, and took that as her cue to leave her hiding place.

Unfolding herself and stretching her cramped muscles, Zoe crept over to the scorpion door. It was ajar, light filtering through it from the hallway beyond.

There was, she remembered, a little office next to the top of the cellar stairs. That would be a logical place to have the keys. She tried there first.

A hasty but thorough rummage through the desk drawers turned up nothing but some mold-smudged scraps of paper. A search of the closet, the shelves and the drawer in the table produced the same result.

Her heart sank. It would have been much easier if the keys had been here, but her luck wasn't in.

Her father had a den and a workroom in the opposite direction, and she hurried along the corridors to get there.

The first room she came to had been cleared of junk and was completely empty - apart from the mold. She didn't know why this room had been cleared, or what they intended to use it for, but she figured they'd have to hurry before the mold took over completely. There were mounds of it in the corners, slowly creeping along the walls, and she shuddered as she put the light on, only to realise that the mold coated the ceiling and had all but swallowed the light bulb.

There were no keys here, anyway. She turned the light off and went into the workroom.

A whiteboard had been set up against one wall, next to the deer skeleton that had always creeped her out as a kid. It looked like Eveline had been busy doodling on it - an unrealistic self portrait.

There were a lot of areas to search here - her father’s tackle box, multiple shelves. No keys.

Zoe went into her father's den, past the just-as-creepy stuffed deer. Her father had told her the tale of how he'd shot it over and over when she was a child, until she'd watched Bambi, and she'd cried so much he'd never mentioned it again.

More fruitless searching, and a rising dread in knowing that she was going have to go down into the cellar.

The big man’s body was going to be down there somewhere, his head partially missing.

She'd have to move around in the dark, too - she didn't want lights alerting Lucas to her presence.

She went back through the workroom, picking up a flashlight from a shelf on the way through. There was no way she was going to wander round in complete blackness and risk stepping in any remains.

 

The smell hit her halfway down the stairs - damp like before, but this time with undertones of rot too. Her throat closed briefly, but she fought her nausea down. She'd puked enough for one day.

The area Lucas had shown her before with the vagrant was now empty, but the place where he'd lain had a wet-looking green and brown stain in the rough outline of a man. She stepped around it, angling the flashlight beam onto the floor so that the glare wouldn't carry too far.

The corridors split up in different directions, and she didn't know which way to go.

Creeping forward apprehensively, she tried a metal door. It was locked. She sighed, and tried a different direction. Another, wooden door was off to one side, open just a crack, and she was about to swing it further when she heard a soft moan from the other side. She froze, switching off her flashlight.

“Is that….ok?” her brother’s voice, breathless, shockingly close.

“That's real good, Lucas. Just slow down, ok? You're going too fast…..”

“Slower? Like that?”

Another moan. Either Mia was really good at faking it, or she was genuinely enjoying it. Even Zoe couldn't tell which, and she'd faked it plenty of times in the past.

“Even slower…..deep and slow…..oh…..Oh!”

“Aw, shit! Shit shit shit!”

There was a brief silence, then Lucas spoke again.

“Sorry….”

“That's ok, Lucas……” said Mia, sounding like it really wasn't ok at all. “We'll just wait awhile…...try again….”

“Really?” Lucas sounded delighted. “Hell, yeah! That's great. Do you, uh, want me to do that thing again, like I did before?”

“Yes.”

Mia sounded terse and pissed off.

Zoe slunk away again.

 

She searched a tiled room that looked like bathtubs were being plumbed in for some reason. Nothing. The boiler room, noisy with steam and machinery. Again, nothing.

Zoe was starting to feel as frustrated as Mia had sounded.

She wandered aimlessly till she found another metal door. It had a temporary sign in magic marker taped to it: Dissection Room.

What the fuck?

She went inside, and wished she hadn't.

 

It could have been Leila or Nadine. Without the head it was difficult to tell.

It was definitely female though.

Dissection wasn't the correct term for what had happened here. A more accurate description would be  _ butchery.  _ In fact, a square bladed butcher’s knife lay to one side, covered in caked blood, next to what looked like a bone saw.

It was only a torso, now - the arms and legs no doubt making up the stew her mother had served earlier. The belly had been split open, the ragged edges pulled apart like wings. It was  hollow, the offal extracted. There was a tattoo of a butterfly on one blackened hip, a little detail that made the entire scene somehow even more horrific, and Zoe wept wretchedly as she staggered back out of the room.

 

She eventually found the keys after backtracking through the boiler room and pulling aside a rusted, folding door. There was a metal locker, and when she opened it there were an array of keys on the shelf, large ones with different creatures on and several bunches of ordinary ones.

Zoe quickly sorted through them, finding a large metal ring helpfully bearing a handwritten tag: “Cells”.

Feeling triumphant, she snatched them up and rammed them in her pocket. She glanced briefly at the crow key before closing the cabinet door.

_Sorry, Mia._ _Maybe another time._

She pulled the door back across and quickly retraced her steps. She hadn't come across the corpse of the big man from the cells, for which she was eternally grateful. She supposed he must have been behind one of the locked doors.

Zoe reached the place where she'd heard Mia and Lucas, switching off her light again and tiptoeing past. It appeared they were at it again, only this time Lucas sounded like he was being marginally more successful if the panting and squelching she could hear were anything to go by.

Zoe felt the urge to plug her ears as she passed. The soft, fleshy slapping sound of bodies coming together was all too familiar and cringey, but at least the combined voices of Mia and her brother raised in complimentary moans were loud enough to hopefully blot out any sounds of her progress.

That is, until a large heap of mold by her feet suddenly swelled and lurched towards her.

 

Zoe screamed. She couldn't help it. A high, piercing, ear-splitting scream.

The mold moved fast, a pair of arms forming and stretching up out of the bulging mass. A torso appeared next, separating from the floor and pulling free, followed by a pair of legs, as if the mold was giving birth. There was a wet rip, and a large creature stood before her, a small head balanced ridiculously on top.

There was nothing ridiculous about the teeth, though.

Paralysed with fear, Zoe could only stand there as the thing wobbled towards her.

The door behind her slammed against the wall as it flew open.

“What the actual fuck, Zoe?” yelled Lucas, elbowing past her. He was barefoot and bare chested, the rings of scars around the tops of his limbs still a stark, pink contrast against his pale skin.

He was buttoning his pants as he barrelled forward.

“Fuck off, you ugly motherfucker!” he shouted at the moist monster that towered over him.

It wavered as if undecided, and Lucas dealt it a brusque slap on what Zoe assumed was its chest, his hand sinking into the soft mulch briefly.

“Go on, get!” he snarled.

The thing slunk backwards, retreating back to its mold pile, collapsing and puddling, sinking into it as if it had never been there at all.

Lucas turned to Zoe, looking angry and flushed and embarrassed.

“The fuck are you doin’ down here?” he demanded.

Zoe recovered enough to snap back at him.

“I might ask you the same question!” she retorted.

Lucas frowned, his eyes darting over her shoulder.

“Uh…..” he began.

Zoe turned. Mia was sat on some kind of narrow metal trolley, naked, attempting to cover herself with Lucas’s hoodie. Her face bore an expression of acute awkwardness.

“Mia?” gasped Zoe in a fair attempt at shock.

She put her hand to her chest as if taken aback, and could swear she saw Mia’s lips twitch at her overacting.

“Now, Zoe, I can explain…..” said Lucas rapidly.

Zoe held up both hands at shoulder height.

“Uh-uh. I'm sure it's none o’ my business,” she said primly.

“Well, I know it ain't, but, uh…..”

Lucas scratched the back of his head. He frowned.

“Why were you down here?”

Zoe lifted her chin and folded her arms.

“I was lookin’ for  _ you.  _ Now I wish I hadn't bothered.”

“You didn't oughta be snoopin’ round down here anyways,” mumbled Lucas, looking at his feet.

His toes were curled on the tiled floor, a sign of discomfiture Zoe recognised from when he was a child.

“Well, I won't tell if you won't,” suggested Zoe.

Lucas’s face brightened.

“That sounds fair,” he agreed. “You fuck off, now, an’ we'll say no more about it.”

“Ok.”

Zoe marched off, her legs still shaking. She didn't know if the monster would have hurt her, but it had been horrifying neverthless, and the shock hadn't worn off.

As she found the door to the stairs, she could hear Mia complaining behind her.

“I don't know, Lucas. I don't feel in the mood any more. That was quite a passion-killer.”

“Aw, Mia, pleeaaasse…...don't be like that…...lemme finish off. Was nearly there anyway.”

“You might have to persuade me.”

“What d’ya want me to do?”

“Get down on your knees.”

“Ohhhh……..”

Zoe fled up the stairs. She didn't know if Mia deserved a medal or an Oscar, but she wasn't looking forward to telling her that she hadn't got the crow key.


	14. Inhumane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe tries to help Tyler and Fatima escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of an emotional rollercoaster, this one.....I found some parts quite hard, but wrote it in pretty much one sitting.

The moon was bright overhead, giving Zoe ample lighting as she scurried towards the guest house, ducking under the windows as she went.

She was scared but still exhilarated, knowing she was finally able to do something, but worried about the consequences.

The lights in the cells were on, but she assumed they were left on permanently. She couldn't imagine anyone coming down to switch them off so the guests - no  _ prisoners _ , that's what they were! - could have a comfortable night’s sleep.

Fatima was curled up on her cot, breathing heavily, but she started awake when Zoe tried a key in the cell door.

“What? What's going on?”

She jumped to her feet, backing against the wall, relaxing only slightly when she realised it was Zoe.

It was the wrong key. Zoe snatched it out and tried the next. It turned easily in the lock, and the door drifted open.

“I'm gettin’ you outta here,” said Zoe. “We have to hurry.”

“Won't you get in trouble?” asked Fatima, slipping through the door.

“Yeah. But I gotta do this. I can't just let you die. I wouldn't be able to live with myself!”

Fatima flung her arms around her. A musky smell came off her from who knew how many days of not washing, but it wasn't wholly unpleasant.

It was the first time Zoe had properly hugged a woman her own age, and just that brief squeeze from Fatima, feeling her breasts pushing against her, made Zoe realise exactly what it was that men liked about women's bodies. So soft.

“Thank you!” said the girl. “Thank you so much!”

She pulled away.

“We ain't outta the woods yet,” said Zoe. “Gotta get off the property first.”

“Are you coming?”

Zoe shook her head.

“I wish I could. But I can't.”

“I will send help,” said Fatima. “You can be sure of it.”

Zoe shrugged. She wasn't sure what help Fatima’s father would be able to provide, no matter how rich he was, but it was a nice thought.

“Well, whatever. Listen, now: There's a way out through the attic. Go up the stairs an’ go straight ahead, there'll be another set o’ stairs on yer left. Go up them, mash the button at the top, an’ some steps will come down. In the main part o’ the attic, there's a ladder. You can get off the roof an’ straight into the swamp. You got all that?”

Fatima nodded, her face flushed with excitement.

“What about Tyler?”

“I'm gonna let him out now. I'll send him a different way, so they'll have to worry about more’n one route if they find out yer gone. Okay?”

“Ok. Thank you. And, Zoe?”

“What, honey?”

“Under different circumstances, I think I would have loved to be your friend.”

She grabbed Zoe's hands in a feverish grip, staring into Zoe's grey eyes with her deep brown ones.

“ _ More _ than just your friend……”

She leaned forward and kissed her, her lips unbelievably soft and yielding against Zoe’s own. It was a fleeting moment, so brief Zoe had no time to be surprised, before Fatima had squeezed her hands and left, darting away barefoot towards the stairs.

Zoe stood, stunned.

“Wow. Ok.”

She turned and went towards Tyler’s cell. Lucas would never have stood a chance with Fatima.

 

Tyler was awake, poised by his cell door.

“I heard what you said. You're helping me escape.”

“Yeah.”

She gave him a lopsided smile.

“Looks like you won't be gettin’ that blowjob after all. Sorry ‘bout that.”

She was trying to be lighthearted, but he looked miserable.

“I don't wanna leave you,” he said.

“Well, you gotta. Can't see you stayin’ here an’ becomin’ one o’ the family.”

“But I'm worried about you. What will happen to you when they find out you let me out?”

“I dunno,” said Zoe, fumbling with the keys. “But it won't be good, I know that.”

She unlocked the gate and swung it open.

“Now, you'll have to go a different way to Fatima. I'll take ya to a path that leads out - “

She got no further as Tyler grabbed her in a crushing embrace.

Without the bars separating them she could feel all of him, his hard muscle a stark contrast to Fatima’s gentle curves.

She was shorter than him, so her face was pressed against his chest, and despite the urgency of the situation she wound her arms around his waist, relishing the sturdy feel of him.

“You gotta go, Tyler…..” she moaned, holding him tighter.

“I know.”

He kissed the top of her head.

It was stupid to be standing here cuddling on the verge of an escape attempt - life-threateningly stupid - but after all the excitement and the adrenaline rush of getting the keys and encountering the monster, Zoe felt a moment of peace in Tyler’s arms.

He lifted her chin with his hand and kissed her fiercely, his lips where Fatima’s had been only minutes before, and knowing that was blackly exciting. What fun she could have had, had she known, she thought wryly. Tyler in one cell, Fatima in the other……

Thinking about it made her desperate, and before she knew it she had her hands under his t-shirt, pulling it up. He released her long enough to peel it off, and she admired his broad chest. She'd always liked her men big, to give her that feeling of being crushed and frail by comparison even as she told them what to do.

He had a long scar running up from the waistband of his jeans, and she ran her finger over it, making him squirm.

“How d’ya get that? Were you in a knife fight?”

“Hardly!” he laughed. “I'm a good boy. It was a kidney transplant, back when I was at school. Got my brother's kidney in there.”

“You're a survivor, then…..”

“Oh yeah.”

He kissed her again.

“I'll come back for you,” he murmured against her lips.

“No you won't. I'll be pissed if ya do. Comin’ back into the lion’s den after all I done to get ya out……”

His mouth wandered down her neck.

“I should go…..” he said, pulling up her shirt.

“Yeah, you should,” she said, helping him get it off.

Danger made her horny, it seemed. Peril was an aphrodisiac to her. She'd undertaken some risky sexual encounters in her time, from sucking off that guy in the garage while her parents watched tv to fucking in the boy’s bathroom at school, but that was a mere shadow compared to this. Everything about this evening was treacherous and potentially fatal, but that somehow made it more exciting. Even hearing her brother and Mia fuck in the cellar, horrible though it had been at the time, had gotten her all worked up. Mia’s moans had sounded genuine, like hers were now.

“We better be quick if we're gonna do this…..” she said, finally admitting that it was going to happen.

She undid her jeans with no ceremony, pushing them down, dragging them off her ankles, her panties close behind. They were soaking wet, not from cold hose water this time, but from her own sticky heat.

Tyler struggled out of his own jeans, his shorts catching on the head of his cock as he tugged them down. It sprang back up again, veiny and huge.

Zoe lay down on the floor where she'd been earlier, but this time with no troublesome bars in the way.

The floor was as cold and hard and thrilling as it had been then, and Tyler’s weight pressed her against it as he lay on her. He was shaking, whether from fear or excitement or nervousness she didn't know, but there was no time to set him at ease.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her legs around his waist, feeling his cock nudge against her thigh.

“Quickly now!” she urged. “Fuck me!”

He entered her with one push, sliding in easily, and she tightened her thighs around him, trying to get him even further in. She felt like she would leave her imprint sunk into the floor under him, but he lifted himself up on his hands, staring directly into her eyes as he started to fuck her.

“Oh, you  _ are  _ a good boy,” she said, her ass scraping the floor in time with his thrusts.

“You're beautiful,” he told her. “And so fucking brave, and tough, and smart…..”

He pumped his cock in with each compliment, driving it home, hard how she liked it but not hard enough to hurt. She felt useless, and unwound her legs so she could put her feet on the floor and push upwards, banging her hips against him.

“Oh fuck, that's good,” she whimpered.

His belly was angled to rub against her clit, the hard muscle doing the job his tongue had before.

Her head hit the floor, a jarring thud, and he slid his hand under it, cradling it against the stone, forming a barrier so she wouldn't get hurt.

“Oh, shit! Why’re you so perfect?” she groaned. “Why couldn't I o’ met you before?”

“Don't cry, Zoe….” he begged.

She hadn't realised she was crying, but it made sense - the blurring in her eyes, the wetness on her cheeks, the sudden feeling of release.

She'd been so alienated: her family turned into monsters, such violence and pain now commonplace, a little tyrant bitch girl ruling her life - and now to feel some tenderness and a superficial semblance of love that  _ couldn't  _ be real, wasn't real at all no matter how it felt…..it was all too much.

She felt him falter, troubled by her distress, but she wouldn't let him go.

“Don't you stop!” she snarled. “Don't you  _ dare _ stop!”

He picked up his pace again, and she tried to smile through her tears to reassure him.

He was close to cumming, she could tell - he had that stupid look on his face that men always seemed to get when they were past the point of no return - like they were in pain. It was a look she loved, because it made her feel powerful and protective at the same time.

She wasn't as close, but she didn't care. The mental pleasure was more than enough, and the feel of his dick pounding her was sublime.

“Oh, shit, Zoe…..”

His voice was choked as he came, a strangled cry that didn't bear bear the force of her howls when she experienced the same feeling. The little death, she'd heard it called in some old Victorian novel she'd read once, and the phrase seemed appropriate now, hearing him splutter, seeing his face twist.

She felt his cock spasm inside her, an intimate pulse as his spunk filled her. She felt triumphant and alive.

He was still cumming when she saw movement behind him through the mist of her tears, his hips still pressing into her in that final release when the hand grabbed his pretty brown curls. His face changed in an instant, from ecstasy to horror, and Zoe didn't even have time to scream as the blade swept in front of her eyes and sliced open his throat.

 

So much blood, she couldn't see. It blinded her. But she could still hear - the gurgling sound he made as the blood gushed out, the sound of it splashing on the floor. Her mouth was open, trying to scream, and the bitter taste flooded it, filling her throat, rolling over her tongue in a scalding wave.

She choked on it, coughing and spluttering as his weight was hauled off her, his dick yanked out of her with shocking suddenness, leaving her empty.

She tried to lift her head, but something slapped her face with dizzying force.

“You filthy, dirty little slut!” roared her father's voice. “You ungrateful, vile, diseased little whore! Fucking strangers in  _ my house!” _

She wiped the blood from her eyes even as more of it rained down on her breasts. Her father held Tyler by his hair, his throat an ugly, wet grin that vomited blood onto her, his eyes wide and shocked.

She dug her heels into the stone, pushing backwards, her elbows scraping as she tried to retreat, but her father swung the man's face towards her, the open mouth brushing against her cheek.

“Take a good look at what you done, cunt,” spat Jack. “You killed this here boy as surely as if you'd held the knife yourself.”

Tyler’s hair began to tear, strands coming loose in Jack’s fist, unable to bear the weight of his body.

Zoe wailed, trying to push him away, her hands sliding against the blood that coated his well-muscled chest.

“Daddy, no!”

“Yes, Zoe! Face up to what you made happen, with yer greedy hole. Got yer brain between yer legs, girl! Just as bad as yer brother!”

He released Tyler’s hair, letting the body fall on top of her.

Now she screamed, in panic and revulsion. His dick was only just going soft, and it pressed against her belly as though he wanted to go again. His head crunched heavily against her skull, and in a perfect moment of horror she felt the raw edges of his cut throat against her lips in one final kiss.

She kicked up with her feet, pushed with her hands, his dead weight impossible, everything slick and slippery and red. She rolled, and he toppled off sideways, hitting the floor with a meaty thud.

Jack stood over her, staring down with utter disgust and hatred, the lenses of his glasses speckled with Tyler’s blood, his teeth bared and shiny with spit.

She tried to cover her nakedness with her hands, feeling small and vulnerable and pathetic.

“Dunno what he saw in a scrawny, titless little bitch like you anyways,” Jack snorted. “Always were an ugly child Zoe. Ain't nothin’ changed as you got older.”

“Daddy, please!”

She couldn't take it. It was worse than Marguerite’s bugs, worse than Lucas’s happy violence, worse than Eveline’s cold control. Worse than anything she'd ever known.

“Well, you like him so much, girl, you can fuckin’ stay down here with him. That make ya happy? Can put his cock in a splint an’ fuck him all over again when you get bored.”

Grovelling on the floor, she reached out for her father's ankle, grabbing at it, pressing her forehead to the toe of his boot, wanting any sort of forgiveness, any tiny glimpse of affection, but he shook her grip loose roughly.

“Get yer filthy, whorish hands off me! God only knows what I'd fuckin’ catch!”

He lifted his foot, the sole high above her, every detail from the mud at the heel to the small stone caught in the cleat clearer than anything she'd ever seen before he brought it down, hard, on her stomach. She doubled over, unable to make any sound, curling up into a ball.

“But don't you worry none. You won't be alone down here with him. But it means yer gonna have to share him with yer little friend.”

Zoe craned her neck, drooling on the floor as she looked up. She could hear screaming, frantic and terrified, getting louder and louder, and her mother appeared in the doorway, dragging Fatima by her wrists.

It didn't seem possible that the girl could scream any louder, but when she saw Tyler and Zoe, she did.

“You hush yer squallin’!” snapped Marguerite, raising her free hand and delivering a sweeping slap that echoed sharply from the walls.

Jack laughed.

“Y’see, Zoe? They all come home to roost!”

Marguerite yanked at Fatima’s arms, hurling her into a corner.

Jack crouched over Zoe, putting his face close to hers. He stank of rotten meat and stale sweat.

He had something in his hand and she cringed away as he raised the machete.

“You see this? This is for you. You're gonna stay down here with yer dead boyfriend until you do like Eveline told ya an’ kill this here pretty girl.”

“I won't do that!” sobbed Zoe miserably. 

“Oh, I think you will. Once the hunger’s a-gnawin’ at yer guts, and yer boyfriend starts to turn. Then you'll do it, just you wait.”

He stood, and the last thing Zoe saw before she lost consciousness was the sole of his boot coming towards her face.

 

She felt hands touching her face, and recoiled. Her mouth was screaming even before her brain had remembered there was something to scream about.

“Zoe, no! It's ok….It's Fatima.”

Zoe twitched, looking at the upside down face above hers, puffy from crying.

Fatima’s fingers touched her face again delicately. They were wet, and Zoe realised she was dipping her fingers in water to clean the blood from her. Fatima touched a sore spot, and Zoe winced.

“Oh! I'm sorry, Zoe…..”

Zoe lifted her aching head. One side of her face was unbelievably sore, and her skull felt like it was splitting. She was lying on the floor, but had apparently been dragged around the corner from where she'd been before. She couldn't see Tyler’s body, to her relief.

Zoe slumped back down again. She was still naked, but there was a blanket over her, another rolled up for a pillow under her head. Her skin itched and felt tight, and she lifted the edge of the blanket to look underneath.

She was still coated in Tyler’s blood. It had dried to a flaky, brown glaze.

“I did not clean your body,” said Fatima, blushing slightly. “It did not seem….appropriate.”

Zoe struggled to sit up. Fatima tried to stop her, but her hands hovered over Zoe’s bare shoulders as if she didn't quite dare touch her.

“Zoe, you must lie still!” she urged. “You're injured.”

“I wan’ his bloo’ offa me…” mumbled Zoe. Her lips were swollen and her teeth felt loose again on one side.

The hosepipe was still lying on the floor from where she and Lucas had hosed each other down a million years ago, and she lurched to her feet, the blanket falling away from her.

“Hose me,” said Zoe.

Fatima averted her eyes.

“Are you sure…..?”

“Hose me!” insisted Zoe, swaying on her feet.

She began to cry again.

“Ge’ his bloo’ offa me, please…”

Fatima got up and unwound the hosepipe, turning on the faucet and twisting the nozzle to create a gentle spray. Zoe stood with her legs apart, arms out to the sides, head down.

The water sprinkled over her skin, playing over her breasts and belly. As the blood thinned and trickled down her legs in a pale brown stream, Zoe saw the bruise on her stomach, a perfect imprint of her father's boot.

“While you were….. _ asleep _ ,” said Fatima quietly. “A girl came down here. Black dress and black hair. She went to Tyler’s body and she - she vomited on it. It was black. And she turned to me. I was very frightened. Something about her was very scary. She said to tell you that Tyler was strong, and that he was sure to make a good strong friend for her. She said: ‘He's mine, now.’.”

“Fuckin’ lil bitch…..” Zoe breathed hard. “Fuckin’ evil lil crazy bitch cunt…...I'm gonna kill ‘er. Somehow. One day. I'll kill ‘er.”

Fatima turned off the spray and hurried to wrap the blanket round Zoe, pulling the edges tight.

“You must rest,” she said.

Zoe looked at her, water dripping from the end of her nose.

“You heard what they want me to do to get outta here….”

The cold water had made the swelling feel slightly better, but her speech was still slurred.

Fatima hesitated, then nodded.

“I ain't gonna do it,” Zoe told her. “We'll figure out a way to get outta here. Since they were nice enough to leave the cell doors open.”

“Will you lie down, now you are clean?” begged Fatima.

Zoe tried to nod, but the movement caused her agony.

“You can use my bed. It's the furthest away from……”

She didn't finish, bustling Zoe into her cell and guiding her to the bed. Wrapped tightly like a burrito, Zoe found it hard to lie down, but Fatima helped her, her hands ever gentle and careful.

The girl disappeared for a moment, returning with extra blankets from the other cells, heaping them over her patient.

Zoe laughed without humour.

“Tyler sure ain't gonna be usin’ his, I guess.”

“Hush, now!” said Fatima sternly, perching herself on the edge of the bed. “Get some sleep.”

“Ain't you gonna sleep? This is your bed.”

Carefully, Fatima arranged herself along the edge of the mattress, keeping a polite distance between her and Zoe.

They lay face to face, studying each other.

“I ain't gonna kill you, Fatima,” said Zoe. “No matter what. They can't make me.”

“I believe that you believe that.”

Zoe frowned.

“Hang on, now…!”

Fatima placed her fingertips against Zoe's lips, quieting her softly.

“In this life, we can never say for sure ‘I will do this’ or ‘I will not do this’, because we can never be certain what will happen to change it. But your heart is good and your intentions pure, so that is all that matters for now.”

Zoe sighed. It was too complicated to think of now.

“Fatima…..would you hold me? I feel so fuckin’ awful…..I need a friend…..”

Fatima paused, then nodded.

“You have one,” she said decisively, inching closer and winding her arm around Zoe’s shoulders.

Zoe snuggled closer, placing her wounded head on the girl's shoulder. Fatima was so soft, like a luxurious pillow, and though she was aware she was using the girl's affection for her to make her feel better, she needed that comfort right now.

 

Zoe had a dream.

Eveline stood next to her in the cell. There was blood on the floor, splashed on the walls, dripping from the ceiling. They both watched Zoe squatting on the floor, busy with the machete as she hacked and cut and chopped.

Fatima’s head stood on the foot of the bed, her pretty mouth open, her deep brown eyes wide with shock.

The rest of her was in pieces, scattered across the stone floor.

Eveline and Zoe watched for a while.

“Y’know, Eveline,” said Zoe eventually. “Your dreams couldn't make me fuck my brother. What makes you think they're gonna make me kill Fatima?”

“It's like she said: You never know what might happen to change it……”

“Fuck off, Eveline.”

 

Zoe woke up. Her arms had crept out of her blanket as she slept and around Fatima’s waist. Fatima’s face twitched as she slept, her eyelids fluttering. Zoe hoped she wasn't dreaming about being hacked to pieces.

She was comfortable lying there, reluctant to move, knowing motion might make her head start to ache again, but she was wracked with morbid curiosity about Tyler - about the whole process of Evie making her “friends”.

A carefully as she could, trying not to wake Fatima, Zoe wriggled down the bed and off. She found her clothes, folded neatly in the corner, and struggled into them. There were spots of blood on them, but not many.

Wandering around the corner, she passed the second cell where the big man had died and Lucas had been punished. Her footsteps slowed as she continued, brown stains of blood coming into view, an outspread hand, fingers curled.

Tyler lay as if carefully arranged, legs spread, arms out, like that Da Vinci sketch  _ The Vitruvian Man _ .

The bottom half his body had livid bruising on the backs of his calves and thighs.

Lucas had gone through a morbid phase when they were younger after they'd found a dead body in the river - a townie who'd fallen in drunk and got washed all the way down to the swamp. He'd been so fascinated he'd read up the process of death - rigor mortis and rot. He'd relayed a lot of it to Zoe, and she knew that the bruises were actually caused by the blood pooling and settling after the heart had ceased pumping it round the body.

She wondered if Tyler was stiff yet. She didn't want to touch him to find out.

The top half of his body was covered with mold, evidently where Eveline had vomited on him. It seemed to be crawling - she could see barely discernible movement if she looked closely, most of it concentrated around the gash in his throat. She didn't understand the process. Lucas had mentioned the body giving the mold a shape to use, but she didn't know if this meant the mold would be strung over his frame like a tent over poles or whether he'd be some kind of zombie.

She backed away from him. She didn't want to look any more.

“I'm sorry, Tyler. But chances are they'd o’ caught you even if we hadn't stopped to fuck.”

 

Zoe looked at herself in a scrap of mirror she found amongst all the junk in one of the corridors. Her head ached less after her sleep, but one side of her face was sore and the mirror showed her why: She had a boot print on her face to match the one on her stomach. 

She tightened her hand on the shard, the sharp edge cutting into her fingers, and seeing the red and purple welt raised on her cheek, the pattern of the cleated sole perfectly visible, she was gripped by a sudden, cataclysmic anger.

“Fuck you, daddy!” she screamed, throwing the mirror at the wall where it shattered into a multitude of glittering pieces. “Why didn't you fight it, you mean old fucker? Huh? I did it! Even fuckin’ Lucas tried to fight it, but you? You sold out your family for a weird little fuckin’ kid! Why didn't you love us enough to fight?”

There was a row of shelves stacked with junk, and she heaved them over. Crap fell all over the floor and she kicked at it.

Fatima came around the corner, woken from her sleep by the commotion, and stared. Zoe turned to her.

“All my life I lived in these shitty buildin’s! We got houses comin’ outta our asses an’ never had the money to fix ‘em up! We live in a fuckin’ _mansion_ that was fallin’ to pieces before the storm even got here,  and do you think my father would ever sell any of it off so that we could afford one decent place to live? So that we could maybe have a dvd player instead o’ all these fuckin’ vcrs? Naw, not my daddy! Stubborn old bastard. Every room room we have is full o’ shit that he'd never let us throw away, but you know what? I didn't care! Cuz I loved him! Even though they could never afford to send me and Lucas off to college cuz the upkeep o’ this fuckin’ property was too much! Lucas should be workin’ for fuckin’ NASA by now! Both of us should o’ been long gone by the time that little cunt turned up! An’ I never once blamed him! But when it came down to it, he wasn't strong enough to fight for his fuckin’ family an’ I _hate_ him for that!”

There was a wooden box on the floor full of antique coins, broken open to spill the contents on the floor. She drove her toe into the pile, scattering them.

“Why couldn't he fight, Fatima? I always thought he was the strongest, bravest man alive, willin’ to protect his family from anythin’, so why couldn't he fight it like I could? Why do I have to be all alone?”

Fatima approached her cautiously, not wanting to spark another outburst.

“I do not know. But I know that outward strength is not the same as inner strength. My father always said that his generation were not taught to cope with feelings. They kept them shut away to fester. Maybe when this child came to you, it was easier to overcome your father because he had too many bad feelings he had never been allowed to let out. Maybe he kept them in a box that had gone rotten, like those coins, and it was easy to break.”

Zoe stared at her.

“How did you become so fuckin’ wise?”

Fatima shrugged.

“I do not think I am. But my father - he is very wise. I love him. And he loves me. But I would say he is not a kind man - not a  _ good _ man. Sometime, we have to accept this about the ones we love.”

“I hate what my parents have become,” said Zoe, stirring the pile of coins with her foot. “An’ I'm stuck here now. I can't get away while I still got this infection in me. But I ain't gonna let her break me. I'm gonna stay Zoe.”

“I believe you will.” Fatima put her head to one side. “Are you still in pain?”

“Not as much,” admitted Zoe. “Most o’ it's inside. But I been thinkin’ Fatima: We should move Tyler’s body. Put it in a cell. I seen one o’ the things he could become, and it ain't nice. I don't know how long it will take, or even if it'll work, but if he turns…..he could kill us both.”

Fatima went pale, but nodded.

“I agree. Let's do it.”

 

The girls took an ankle each. Tyler’s legs were stiff, his skin cold. Zoe didn't want to look at him, but she couldn't help it. His dick was a shrivelled walnut between his legs and she remembered her father saying something about putting it in a splint so she could continue to fuck him. She shuddered.

“Ok, after three. One-two-three!”

They pulled. He was extraordinarily heavy. His top half seemed to be stuck to the floor, as if the mold was holding him in place, like the Lilliputians in Gulliver’s Travels, binding him to the floor. They tugged harder, and he came free with a sucking noise, his head bobbing as they dragged him toward the cells, leaving a trail of blood, mold and mush behind him. Fatima retched, but didn't drop her ankle, and they heaved him inside.

“Oh, fuck. What a mess.”

Zoe tried to close the cell door, but his arm blocked the way. She nudged it aside with her foot, grimacing, and clanged the door shut. It swung open again.

“Shit! I thought they'd lock automatically!”

They hunted around in the corridors, looking for rope, and Fatima gave a triumphant crow when she found a length of chain instead. They used it to bind the cell shut, although they had no padlock to hold it in place.

“That's gonna have to do,” said Zoe. “I really hope he don't change. He'd hate it.”

“Maybe it will just be his body. I believe his soul will have moved on.”

“You believe in a soul?”

“Oh, yes!”

Zoe looked in at Tyler’s body, an imprisoned corpse.

“Wish I did. I dunno what I believe any more.”

 

They were both hungry. Nobody had even brought any infected food down for them, for which Zoe was grateful. She didn't want to get to the point where she'd be tempted to eat it.

She told Fatima everything she remembered about the storm and Eveline and the mold, about how the infection had changed them, and when that was done, they talked about Fatima’s family, about her dead mother and overprotective father and the family business she was expected to run.

They talked about their high school days, about bands they liked, about politics, anything they could think of, to avoid talking about the elephant in the room - or rather, the elephant two rooms down and the sharp-edged elephant still sat in the corridor, waiting to be used.

They slept, for a lack of anything better to do. Zoe dreamed that she was eating Fatima, her flesh spicy and delicious.

They played stupid word games which Fatima always won. Zoe would have given anything for a deck of cards to while away the hours.

Nobody came down to check on them, as though they had been forgotten, but the reality was worse: They didn't matter. Not until Zoe had done what she'd been told to do.

Periodically they would check on Tyler’s process. His body had started to change, primarily the upper area where the mold was. Fatima theorised that it was attracted to the blood and the open wound on the top half, as it was his throat that transformed most rapidly. Last time Zoe had looked, there had been teeth growing out of his throat, lining the gash like it was a new mouth.

“What are we gonna do?” asked Zoe finally. “We can't stay down here forever. We'll starve to death, if nothin’ else.”

She was feeling stronger now. Her partial infection had healed her more swiftly than a normal person, and now her pain had gone she felt a need for action.

They tried to break down the door at the top of the stairs, fashioning a makeshift battering ram from some junk they'd salvaged. A brand new, sturdy lock had been installed, but Zoe thought the wood might be easy to break through.

It was difficult balancing at the top of the stairs, trying to to get enough momentum to swing their ram which was just a lump of old wood suspended on ropes, but when they finally managed the splinter of wood was rewarding and exciting. They'd tried again, Fatima nearly tumbling down the stairs before Zoe grabbed her by the arm, and this time they actually saw cracks appear in the door.

But their triumph was short-lived: In response to their efforts, a gurgling roar resounded from the other side of the door, a huge weight slamming against it, sending them shrieking back down the stairs.

“What was that?” asked Fatima from the relative safety of their cell.

“One o’ them things I told you about,” said Zoe. “They got it set up there like a fuckin’ guard dog!”

They both looked in the direction of Tyler’s cell.

“Is there another way?” asked Fatima.

“I don't think so,” said Zoe. “But then I don't know this part o’ the property very well. Was always scared o’ it as a kid. I thought it was haunted, so I never came here.”

They slept again, despite Zoe’s worry about the graphic dreams Eveline had been plaguing her with, but this time, Zoe dreamed about Grandma Baker.

She was old, but not as old as she'd been when she'd lived with them, her grey hair still shot through with darker streaks, and she stood on her own two feet instead of sitting in the wheelchair she'd used at the end.

“There's more’n one way ta skin a cat, Zoe honey,” she was saying.

They were stood in the living room area of the guest house, by the old stone fireplace.

“One way’s obvious, the otha’s a lil more tricky.”

She turned to the framed photo above the mantel, a rare picture in which Lucas was cuddled up to their father and Zoe sat with their mother. The usual order of things had been the other way round. It had been such a rare occurrence it had prompted Uncle Amos to snap a photo of them, and Marguerite had framed it and put it there.

“Always another way, honey. Walls have been built. Metaphorical an’ physical. You gotcha walls in place, your father never did, not where it counted. Oh, I could cry at what he's done to ma precious grandbabies. But it ain't really his fault. Was jest weak when it counted. But you haveta find the real wall, an’ break it down.”

“Grandma, I don't know what you're talkin’ about!”

None of it made sense.

Grandma Baker turned to her, tears running down her face.

“You gotta hard row to hoe, babygirl. An’ even I don't know if you'll make it. Lucas likely will - he always was a slippery lil fucker. But you - you always had too much heart. Always wanted to help people. An’ that's good, but…..” she trailed off, shook her head.

“Check the walls, honey. Check ‘em all.”

 

Zoe woke up. Fatima was staring at her curiously.

“What walls?” she asked.

“Whut?”

Zoe was still half-asleep.

“You were saying something about walls…..”

“Ohhh. That's just a dream I was havin’, about my Grandma.” She laughed. “Was tellin’ me to check the walls.”

“Well, maybe we should.”

“Was just a dream, Fatima!”

“What can it hurt?”

 

She felt stupid, but Zoe started checking the walls with Fatima. She didn't know what they were going to achieve as they wandered along twisting corridors, slapping the stone, examining cracks, but it gave them a purpose.

“I get the feelin’ we're on a wild goose chase,” remarked Zoe, tapping a stone and moving on.

“I don't know what that means,” said Fatima placidly.

“It means when you - “

She stopped.

“Did ya hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Zoe curled her fist loosely and rapped her knuckles against a section of wall. There was a hollow thud.

“It's fuckin’ wood!”

Zoe leaned closer and examined the wall. Close up, the illusion wasn't as skillful as she'd first thought, the wooden partition painted to look like a stone wall, but in the crappy overhead light from a few paces back it looked real enough to pass a casual inspection.

The two women looked at each other, and hurried back to get their homemade battering ram.

The width of the corridor made it easier to get momentum, and they managed to swing with a fair amount of force. On the fourth or fifth swing, the wall cracked open.

“We fuckin’ did it!” squealed Zoe in triumph.

“Not yet!” chided Fatima. “Keep going!”

They swung it again and again, watching the wall bow even more with every blow until a large hole splintered into existence.

They dropped the ram, and bent down to look through.

“It's dark,” she said. “But I can feel air movin’ a little, an’ hear…...water?”

With surprising determination, Fatima pushed Zoe aside and kicked at the edge of the hole with a bare foot, chunks of wood flying from the weakened partition.

“Hey, hang on, Fatima!”

“No!” she retorted.

Zoe winced as Fatima kicked again, holding Zoe's shoulder for support, and a larger portion caved in. Her foot was bleeding by the time she lined up the third, and with the final one there was a hole large enough to crawl through.

“There,” said Fatima with satisfaction.

Zoe looked at her with new respect.

“Wow, Fatima, if I'd known you was such a firecracker, I wouldn't o’ bothered makin’ a batterin’ ram, I'd o’ just used you!”

Fatima blushed prettily, but brushed her praise aside.

“Never mind that. Who’s going first?”

“S’pose I oughta. I might recognise somethin’ once we're out there.”

Zoe bobbed down and crawled through the gap. She'd been right about the water - she could hear irregular dripping and the tiny lapping sounds of wavelets hitting something. There was just enough light to illuminate the floor in front of her, and there was an object lying there.

Zoe picked it up.

“A flashlight?”

She flicked the switch and a strong beam of light sprang out, nearly blinding her.

“How fortuitous,” remarked Fatima, joining her.

“Too fuckin’ fortuitous, you ask me. I don't like it.”

“What is the saying? About looking a horse in the mouth?”

“But if someone left it here deliberately…..”

“Maybe they want us to escape?”

Zoe shook her head.

“Very fuckin’ suspicious. But, y’know, what choice do we have?”

She walked forward. The ground sloped downwards, and ahead of them was the water she'd heard.

“What is this?” asked Fatima. “A pool?”

Zoe laughed.

“It's floodin’. Houses round here usually don't have cellars cuz every time there's heavy rainfall the swamp floods ‘em. But our house has to be different, don't it?”

“That's swamp water? Are there leeches?”

Fatima sounded remarkably squeamish for someone who had witnessed so much worse than leeches.

“There shouldn't be,” said Zoe with more optimism than truth. “Anyways, if there were, would it stop you?”

Fatima shook her head.

“Well, there ya go. Come then.”

Zoe started to wade. She had no idea how deep the water was, but she was a decent swimmer. The floor sloped further, taking her under the beams of the floor above, but thankfully there was something underfoot she could balance on - a collapsed joist, maybe - and she used it to edge forward, holding the flashlight overhead.

“Come on in, the water's fine,” she called out, lifting her chin to keep it above the surface.

Whimpering, Fatima followed, copying Zoe’s path. She was shorter, and spluttered as water splashed into her mouth.

“Comin’ to a corner,” Zoe reported back.

She leaned round it to investigate, and stopped dead.

“What is it, Zoe?”

“Turn back Fatima. Go.”

“But what is it?”

There was a large splash as the alligator Zoe had seen basking on the floor at the opposite end of the flooded corridor slid into the water.

“Go back, Fatima! Go back!” screamed Zoe.

Fatima turned, losing her balance and ducking her head under the water. Zoe grabbed for her, finding the smaller woman’s waist and hauling her up.

“Move! Go!”

They hurried, but progress was painfully slow in comparison to the huge reptile gliding along behind them. Half swimming, half wading they reached the dry slope and clambered up in just as the gator hove into view around the corner, its scaly back cutting through the water.

Fatima screamed and ran towards the hole, ducking through it.

Zoe paused to look at the gator. It was a big one - 12 feet long at least - and there was no way it could have just swum in by itself.

As it neared the ramp she turned to run, the light glancing upwards as she did so. There was a handwritten notice pinned to the wooden partition on this side:

“ _ Dear Prisoners, _

_ Get back in your cells, _

_ Love, Lucas _

_ (King of the Gators)” _

“Lucas, you asshole!” muttered Zoe as she squeezed through the gap.

 

Wet and disheartened, they barricaded the hole with some shelves and trailed back to their cell.

Passing Tyler, they saw that the mold had enveloped the top half of his body and was starting to make its way down his thighs. His arms were longer than they'd been before, with long, claw-tipped fingers, and the gaping mouth that had replaced his own was full of crooked fangs.

Fatima sat soggily on the edge of the bed, her head down, her entire demeanour defeated.

“I can't do it any more,” she said in a small voice. “I'm tired, I'm hungry, I'm weak, I'm wet, and our final escape has been cut off by a crocodile.”

“It's an alligator,” said Zoe, and shut her mouth at the sharp look Fatima gave her.

“Stop it!” said Fatima. “It doesn't matter if it's a crocodile or an alligator or a fucking dinosaur, we can't get out that way!”

She turned away, lying on the bed facing the wall.

“There has to be another way…..” began Zoe.

“There isn't. And even if there was, they would just catch us again.”

“Come on, Fatima, don't be - “

Zoe cut herself off in horror. Had she been about to spout Lucas’s line?

Uneasy, she went over and sat on the bed next to her friend. Not knowing what else to do, she began to rub the girl's back between her shoulder blades, like Momma used to do to Lucas, like she'd done to Lucas the night they'd drunk the sherry a hundred years ago.

“I'm sorry, Fatima. I just - I dunno what to do, or what to say.”

“Say nothing,” said Fatima grumpily.

“We should at least get outta these wet clothes.”

Fatima rolled over slightly, regarding Zoe with a raised eyebrow.

Zoe giggled.

“I ain't tryin’ to seduce ya,” she said.

“Pity,” said Fatima archly, and sat up. “Give me a blanket.”

 

They undressed self-consciously, trying not to make a big deal out of it. Fatima had, at least, seen Zoe naked when she'd been unconscious, but Zoe found herself full of natural curiosity at the other girl's body. She'd never really had the kind of girlfriend that would have sleepovers - Lucas often put them off, sneaking around like a creeper - and even in the girl's locker rooms at school she'd been shy, getting changed in a corner out of the way, so being in such close proximity to another naked woman was foreign to her.

Fatima blushed as she disrobed, hiding behind her blanket and depositing garments around the edge like some old-timey woman in a movie undressing behind a screen.

Once done, they wrapped the blankets round them like togas, spreading their clothes out to dry.

“How you feelin’ now?” asked Zoe.

Fatima shrugged one naked shoulder elegantly.

“Hopeless,” she said honestly. “Hungry. Scared. Tired. Same as before, just not wet.”

“Maybe we should get some sleep,” suggested Zoe.

“I suppose so,” said Fatima, sighing as she settled herself on the bed.

Zoe joined her, lying with her back to Fatima’s, wishing she could turn out the light.

 

She was in the living room in the main house, but the light was weird. It had a greenish hue to it, like she was under water. Her father sat opposite her, and the second she registered his presence, she got to her feet, ready to run in terror.

“Zoe, no! Please!”

He grabbed her arm, and she shrieked, trying to beat him away, but instead of tightening his grip he released her, holding his hands up.

“I ain't gonna stop ya. Not if you wanna go. But, please, honey - hear me out.”

She hesitated. He seemed different, somehow - no, not different: The same as he used to be.

“Daddy? Is that you?”

He sighed.

“Uh-huh. It's me, Punkin. The real me. An’....an’ I'm so sorry, honey. You gotta believe me!”

To her horror, she saw that he was crying - her big, strong father crying big, wet tears that ran into his grizzled beard and smeared his glasses.

The realisation made her cry, too, doubling her vision and making her chest ache.

“All those ugly things I said to you….You know that weren't me!”

He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes.

“I love you, honey. You've always been so precious to me, right from the minute I saw you in your mother's arms. You held my heart in your tiny hands from the day you were born. You were so perfect! Lucas, he always cried when I held him, always wanted his Momma. But you never did. You were happy with your daddy.”

He looked grim.

“I ain't got long here.  _ She's  _ gonna call me back soon. An’ I can't stop her. Don't think I ain't tried, Zoe, but she's stronger than you realise. Thing is, she never really wanted you, or Lucas for that matter. You kinda got caught in the crossfire, an’ you amuse her now. Naw, it was me an’ your mother she always wanted. A Mommy an’ a Daddy, like normal kids have.”

He shook his head.

“I can't stop her. I can't. I've tried my hardest. So it's up to you know. It ain't right I should be layin’ all this responsibility on your shoulders, but there's nothin’ I can do.”

“What do I have to do, Daddy?”

He took her hands in his big paws, squeezing them.

“ _ Stay alive.  _ There's someone out there, I don't know who, can put a stop to all this, an’ you gotta hold out till he gets here. You understand?”

“Yes, but…..”

She was crying so hard she could barely speak.

“Aw, honey. I know it's hard. But you're so strong! I'm so proud o’ you, Punkin……”

He put his arms round her and she sank gratefully into his bearish embrace. He smelled right, now - hops and Old Spice and clean laundry.

“I have to go now, baby girl. She wants me. Just remember that I love you……”

“Don't go!” begged Zoe, but her father was suddenly ripped away from her, the warm green light replaced by the harsh roar of a strong wind and lightning cutting jaggedly through the room.

“ _ Jack!”  _ boomed a voice, deafening, filling the universe. It was Eveline’s voice, and her father was gone.

 

Zoe woke up crying, heaving sobs that seemed to shake her bones.

“Zoe? What is it? What's wrong?”

Fatima was leaning over her, face full of sweet concern.

“My daddy…..” she moaned. “My real daddy….he was talkin’ to me in my dream…..sayin’ he was sorry…..”

“Ah,” said Fatima. “He was talking to you the only way he could.”

“I miss him!” wailed Zoe. “I miss all o’ them so much!”

“Of course you do! My poor Zoe…..”

Fatima put her arms around her, cradling her head on her bare shoulder, stroking her hair as the weeping subsided. Zoe snuggled up to her, grateful for the warmth and comfort she provided.

“What are we gonna do, Fatima?” she said eventually.

“Something will occur….” said Fatima, but she didn't sound convinced.

She caressed her bare shoulder thoughtfully.

“How long do you think it will be before Tyler is transformed?”

“I dunno. An’ I'm scared,” said Zoe.

“Tell me about your dream,” said Fatima. “Everything you can remember.”

“Why?”

“There might be a clue - like there was before.”

“It was just a dream!”

“Tell me,” insisted Fatima, so Zoe did.

 

Once she was finished, Fatima went very quiet. She still held Zoe, still soothed her, but she looked very thoughtful.

“Well? What do you think?”

“I think the answer is clear,” said Fatima finally.

“Not to me it ain't!”

Fatima turned her chin up and gazed into her eyes.

“Only one of us can get out of here. And it must be you.”

“What? No!”

“Yes! You have to live. I'm just - what was it he said? - caught in the crossfire. I'm never going to get out of here alive. And I'd rather it was you who killed me.”

“I can't do that! Why would you let me do that?”

Zoe sat up, horrified.

“Because I love you,” said Fatima simply.

“Like a sister….right?”

Fatima shook her head, a faint smile on her face.

“No. Like a man would.”

“Oh….I thought you was just...you know….”

Zoe felt unbelievably awkward, but wasn't there a tiny bit of longing there also?

“It's alright. I don't expect you to return the feeling. But it doesn't matter. I know how I feel. And love - well, it's about sacrifice, isn't it?”

“Not that kind o’ sacrifice! Jesus!”

Fatima sat up.

“Zoe - I don't want to live in a world that can have these things in it. Before I came here, I was rich and complacent, worried only about what my father would think of me, worried about my grades…...This - “ she swept her arm expressively around the cells, somehow also taking in Eveline and her family and the mold and the torture. “ - this, I cannot take. The world is a horrible place, and I don't want to be part of it anymore. Kill me. Set yourself free.”

 

Fatima knelt on the floor, her hands clasped on her knees as if she were praying. Her head was bowed, her greasy hair falling over her face.

Zoe wanted nothing more than to get her out of here, wash her hair, dress her in her fine clothes, see her standing proud and beautiful like she deserved - but here she was standing over her with a machete.

“I can't do this, Fatima…..” she said in a small voice.

“Yes you can. Do it for me. Release me.”

Her voice sounded easy and calm, but Zoe could see that her knuckles were white, the small bones in her wrists tensing and relaxing.

“Just make it quick, my love.”

There was a noise from the cell further down - a scraping, squelching sound. Tyler was up. Zoe heard the gate rattle.

“Do it!” urged Fatima.

The gate rattled again, the chain jangling. Tyler growled, the sound deep and damp, growing louder as he realised he was trapped. There was a banging noise, jarring and metallic.

Zoe bent her body forward, raising the machete, trying to see straight through her tears.

“I love you too, Fatima,” she said, wanting them to be the last words she would hear, and brought the machete down as hard as she could.

For a moment, Fatima still knelt there, the machete jutting out of the top of her head, the handle sticking out in front. Blood began to creep around the blade, flowing down over her face. Then, as if in slow motion, she toppled over sideways, slumping to the floor.

Zoe looked down at her. Fatima’s eyes were open, staring at nothing.

 

She didn't know how long she stood there, looking down at that soft, sweet woman who had given up her life for her, but after a while she wandered off down the corridor and sat on the floor. Tyler still grumbled and rattled at his cage, but she wasn't scared of him anymore.

The pieces of mirror she'd smashed were still there, and she selected the largest piece, using the point to cut a small gash in her wrist. The blood pooled out, trickled, then gradually stopped as she healed.

No escape there, then.

Sighing, she dipped her finger in the blood, and began to write on the wall.

_ I'm sorry daddy I won't be bad anymore. I'm sorry daddy I won't be bad anymore. I'm sorry daddy. I'm sorry daddy. _

At some point, she realised that Eveline was there, standing by her side as she worked.

“I knew you had it in you,” said Eveline.

“Fuck off,” said Zoe dully, not caring if Eveline punished her, but to her amazement Eveline left.

Zoe reopened her wrist to get more ink, and continued to write.

 

The door upstairs opened and Lucas came trotting down, whistling tunelessly.

Zoe was dressed now, sitting on the cot in Fatima’s cell, waiting.

“Come to bring ya back up, sis - Eveline’s orders.”

He looked down at Fatima, and nodded with grudging respect.

“Good job. Took ya long enough. Although that declaration o’ love - I never expected that!”

Zoe looked up at him in horror.

“What? How did ya know about that?”

“The old man got me to put cameras up in the cells after I, uh, well…..you know. He wanted to be able to keep an eye on things from the house. Did a good job o’ hidin’ them, didn't I? Didn't take me long, either,” he added proudly.

He grabbed the machete and pulled it from Fatima’s head, wiggling the blade to loosen it. It came free with a gristly sound Zoe never wanted to hear again.

“Gotta say, I was a little disappointed though. ‘Bout you an’ Fatima. Hoped you'd at least….you know.…”

He held two fingers up in front of his face and flicked his tongue between them suggestively.

Zoe grabbed the machete from him and swung it, catching him above the elbow and slicing his arm off.

“Hey!”

He watched his arm fall onto the floor.

“The fuck was that for?”

Zoe pushed past him and stamped up the stairs, leaving him muttering behind her.

“Third fuckin’ time this week……”

 

Zoe trudged to her trailer, her head down, watching her feet drag through the grass. She felt Mia’s presence nearby, hovering, maybe wanting to offer solace, but she wanted none. Not from her, not from anyone.

From now on, Zoe was on her own. 


	15. Inhuman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe learns new information about Eveline but has a rough encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have scary Lucas and sweet Lucas in this chapter. Also Eveline is such a bitch. Fuck her.

Time passed differently at the Baker house these days, but Zoe judged it had been roughly a week since she'd murdered Fatima.

During that time, she'd had no contact whatsoever with anyone from the main house, and to her surprise they'd allowed it. Even Eveline had left her alone.

It suited her just fine, but with nothing to occupy herself and no plans to consider, time dragged worse than it had in the cells. At least then she'd had Fatima for company.

Fatima.

Zoe had relived the moment when she swung the machete into her friend's brain over and over during her waking hours. When she slept, it was no better. She didn't know if it was Eveline’s doing or her own guilty conscience, but Fatima appeared in her dreams every time she closed her eyes. Sometimes she was angry and vengeful, hunting Zoe through the underground corridors wielding the machete that was still caked in her brain matter. At other times, it was the moment before Zoe committed the act, and Fatima screamed and pleaded for mercy, grovelling at Zoe's feet, begging her to spare her life.

The worst ones were more ordinary dreams, wherein Zoe would be going about her everyday business and Fatima would be there, standing outside staring in through the window or sitting on the edge of Zoe's bed, looking at her, expressionless, blood running down her face from the gash in the top of her head. She didn't move or speak during these sequences, just remained mute and motionless, only her eyes following Zoe’s movements.

 

One day during the second week, Zoe was woken by someone knocking on her trailer door.

She'd been napping to stop herself from boredom-eating her remaining rations, and the dream that had been interrupted was one of the more disturbing ones in which she'd looked under the bed to search for something and seen Fatima lying under there, staring out at her. There had been cobwebs over her face.

As much as she was relieved to be pulled out of that dream, Zoe wasn't at home to visitors.

“Go away!” she instructed, pulling her blanket over her head.

The trailer door flew open with a crash, hitting the cabinet next to it.

Zoe sat up angrily.

“Goddammit, Lucas! I only just fixed that thing!”

Lucas shrugged.

“Dunno why ya bother. Ain't nothin’ can keep me out.”

Zoe wrapped her blanket round her shoulders grumpily.

“Bet it'd keep you out if I covered it in soap…..” she muttered. “When was the last time you took a shower, Lucas?”

“How’m I s’posed to know that? Ya think I write it on the fuckin’ calendar?”

“Maybe you oughta. You smell worse’n a dead possum that's been layin’ out in the sun all week.”

Lucas raised his arm and sniffed his sleeve.

“Ya think that's why Mia’s been avoidin’ me lately?”

“Maybe. Or it could just be that you're an asshole.”

“I didn't come here to be insulted!”

“Go somewhere else an’ be insulted, then. I reckon there's plenty o’ people would help you out.”

Zoe lay back down and turned away from him, signalling that the conversation was over, but Lucas wasn't the type to respond to hints.

He grabbed the blanket and pulled it off her, the same way Momma used to when she was trying to get them up for school and they were hard to rouse.

Zoe gripped the edge, and a brief struggle ensued as she attempted to keep possession, but Lucas ripped it from her grasp.

“Eveline’s bored an’ wants you to go play with her,” he reported. “That's the only reason I came out here.”

“Eveline can go fuck herself,” retorted Zoe.

Lucas’s eyes widened in shock.

“Jesus, Zoe! You sure like to live dangerously……”

“Took you long enough to notice.”

“If you don't go in there, she'll be mad.”

“I don't care. I ain't doin’ nothin’ for her. Same goes for Momma an’ Daddy. An’ you, for that matter.”

“Why? What have I done?”

Zoe stared at him.

“I ain't even gonna dignify that with an answer. Now fuck off an’ leave me alone. An’ go take a bath.”

She found another blanket and snuggled under it.

Lucas stood there for a moment, apparently considering his options. If he decided to use force, Zoe had a few surprises stashed under her mattress that might not stop him but would definitely slow him down.

“Well? What you hangin’ around here for?” she demanded.

“Eveline tends to have a habit o’ shootin’ the messenger,” said Lucas. “I ain't keen on bearin’ the brunt o’ your fuckin’ stubbornness.”

“Sorry, Lucas, but that comes under the headin’ o’: ‘Not my problem’. Now get yer stinky self outta my trailer.”

Lucas sloped off sulkily, pausing in the doorway.

“Oh, an’ not that you deserve any information, but I thought you might wanna know: Your friend, Fatima. She didn't turn.”

Zoe made no response and Lucas left, making a big show of closing the broken door behind him.

 

Mia was the next to try and break into her fortress of solitude.

When she knocked on the door it swung open, thanks to Lucas breaking the latch, so she walked in.

“Oh great! Why don't you bring everyone else in here, we can have a fuckin’ party!” exclaimed Zoe. “I ain't got no supplies, though, so you'll have to bring yer own booze an’ snacks.”

Mia put a bulging paper sack on the counter.

“That's partly why I came here,” she said. “Thought you could use some more food and stuff.”

She wasn't wrong, but Zoe was fucked if she was going to thank her.

“What's the other reason?” she asked.

“To talk.”

Zoe laughed. Even to herself, it sounded humourless and crazed.

“Talk, she says! Yeah, let's have a nice, cosy fuckin’ chat. Put yer fuckin’ feet up, make yerself at home. So what's goin’ on with you, Mia? Been possessed recently? Fucked my brother again? I'm  _ dyin’  _ to hear all the gossip……”

Mia was quiet, her expression hurt.

“I thought you'd be grateful for a friend,” she said.

“I had a friend,” said Zoe. “Real nice one too. But I killed her. Didn't you hear?”

Mia nodded, watching her with large eyes.

“An’ she was a  _ real _ friend. Not someone who's just bein’ nice to me so I can get the other part for the serum……”

Mia’s face flushed.

“But you didn't even try to get it,” she pointed out with annoyance. “You didn't get the crow key, you just got the keys to the cells!”

Zoe shrugged. She'd long stopped feeling guilty for that little deceit.

“Yeah, well. That was the whole reason I was over there in the first place. You just made an assumption. Weren't my fault.”

“That was selfish of you,” accused Mia, and flinched as Zoe leaned suddenly towards her.

“Selfish? Tryin’ to rescue two people who got caught up in all this fuckery through no fault of their own? Fuckin’ love yer logic, Mia.”

“But after I made that diversion….!”

Zoe laughed again, but this time it was more genuine.

“Oh, yeah! The diversion. Tell me Mia, what was it like fuckin’ my brother? As good as it sounded?”

Mia’s face grew even redder.

“I was just pretending.”

“Sounded pretty convincin’ to me.”

Zoe closed her eyes and rolled her head back.

_ “Oh, Lucas! Ohhhh! Ohhhhhhh!” _

Mia looked more pissed off at the mockery than embarrassed at being heard.

“Say what you want, Zoe, but at least I was prepared to take one for the team……”

“More than one,” pointed out Zoe. “You didn't have to keep goin’ once I'd left.”

The two women stared at each other, neither prepared to back down.

“Why are you being so mean?” asked Mia finally. “I came here in friendship. I came to offer support.”

“An’ not to try an’ persuade me to try for the crow key again?” said Zoe, cynically.

Mia paused, then shook her head.

“No. I didn't come here for that. After what you went through, I wouldn't dare ask you to risk it. And I don't care if you believe it.”

“Well, sweet as it is to offer your  _ friendship _ , I don't want it. You're Eveline’s bitch, just the same as the others. If she was to tell you to choke me to death right now, you'd do it.”

Mia sighed.

“Yes. Probably. But I wouldn't be able to help it.”

“Intent don't make no difference. Whether you could help it or not, you're dangerous. I  _ can't  _ trust you, Mia. I can't have no friendship with you. You get that, don't you?”

Zoe had softened slightly. Everything she said was true, but she believed Mia when she said she wanted to be friends - even if it was for her own selfish reasons.

Mia looked at her lap sadly.

“I'm sorry, Zoe. I guess I'm not being fair.”

“No, you ain't.  But since you're here…..an’ if you really wanna help….why don't you give me some answers?”

“What do you want to know?” asked Mia promptly. “If I know, I'll tell you.”

Zoe arranged herself more comfortably on her bed.

“Well, for starters…..why does Eveline call you Mommy? She ain't really your daughter, is she?”

Mia pursed her lips.

“No…..” she said hesitantly. 

Zoe frowned. 

“C’mon, Mia! Be straight with me now. Is she or isn't she?”

“Technically, no. But on a biological level…...kind of, I suppose. Depends on how you look at it.”

Seeing Zoe's confusion,  Mia sighed.

“Ok.”

 

“So, I told you how Eveline was developed as a bioweapon, right? Well, she was destined to become that at the embryonic stage - I mean, the bacterium that makes her like she is was introduced right at the start of of her development.

“She was created in a lab, in a test tube. For a while, the company I work for was going to use discarded embryos from IVF courses. You see, when people start things like that, they create viable embryos that could, under the right circumstances, become babies. If it fails, they try the next embryo, and so on. But if it works, they store the other embryos for a certain amount of time in case the couple want more babies, and at the end of that time the couple are given the choice of whether they want to pay to have the them stored some more, or if they want the embryos destroyed. I mean, at this stage, they're not even alive, they're just  _ potential _ babies.

The idea was, my company would pay the cryogenic storage companies for these embryos that were going to be destroyed, and use them to make E-series bioweapons like Eveline. But they couldn't find any that would play ball. Morals or greed or risk or what, I don't know. So everyone who worked for the company was asked if they'd volunteer to donate either eggs or sperm.

“As you can imagine, they were plenty of guys prepared to jerk off into a cup in return for a hefty pay bonus, but not so many women volunteers because the process of donating eggs is a lot more complex and time consuming.”

“But you volunteered.”

“Yes. It was a big bonus they offered. Real big.”

“So…..what? You wanted a new car? New kitchen?”

“Nearly. A pool.”

“Sold your eggs for a pool…..you know how many women out there are desperate for eggs to be donated because they can't have babies?”

“Donate some of your own, then.”

The two women stared each other down before Mia continued.

“Anyway, they decided I was suitable, so I started the process. I was put on a course of nasal sprays - the company printed them with labels for allergy treatments so my husband wouldn't get suspicious. Then came a couple of weeks of Follicle Stimulation Hormone injections, and  _ then _ , when they figured everything was ready, I had to inject myself with an HCG trigger injection to induce ovulation. 36 hours after that they harvested my eggs. I had it done under general anaesthetic.  I didn't want to be conscious while they were doing that.

“My marriage suffered. I hadn't told Ethan what I was doing, he would have wanted to have a whole big talk about egg donation, and he never had any idea what the company I worked for actually did. I just told him it was a pharmaceutical company and everything was top secret. But I didn't want to have sex with him while I was undergoing the process because I might have gotten pregnant with sextuplets or something, and neither of us wanted kids.

“So of course, he thought I was having an affair.”

Mia went quiet for a moment.

“You don't talk about your husband much. What's he like?”

“Blond. Handsome. Dresses nice. Not a real emotional guy, on the surface. But he's a good man. He probably thinks I'm dead now……”

She looked sad, and for the first time Zoe felt some kind of empathy for her.

Sure, her company had been playing god, and she'd helped, but underneath she was just a normal woman with a husband and a life that had been taken away from her.

“Have you ever thought about calling him? Letting him know you're alive?”

Mia’s eyes widened in horror.

“God, no! I don't want him involved in this! He'd try and come find me. And he isn't a tough guy. He wears Italian shoes and uses moisturiser. He'd get killed the minute he stepped through the door.”

She shook her head.

“I'd rather he just grieved and moved on….find himself some nice woman who isn't involved in top secret projects……”

Mia sighed.

“Anyway. They had a big batch of eggs they fertilised, and out of all of them, mine was one of the first to take. I wasn't supposed to know, but one of the scientists who was in charge of the project had a thing for me and told me. Like he thought I was gonna sleep with him in return for the information…..

“They used a female convict to incubate the embryo. She'd been on death row for murdering her boyfriend and his family, but they offered her a deal - freedom and a new life and identity in return for being a surrogate mother. Of course, she never got all that. The birth killed her. I think the lab guys suspected that would happen. It wasn't what you would call a normal birth.

“And Eveline was born. She followed the births and deaths of failed attempts - A, B, C and D series. There was an Abigail who only lasted two days, a Belinda who developed some kind of illness and died in her sleep, a Caroline who grew so fast she died of old age a week in and a Danielle went insane and had to be destroyed.”

She paused.

“Danielle is on the second floor of the old house right now. It's her arm you were going for that time.”

“All girls, huh? How come?”

“The project’s director had a theory that a girl child would be less threatening in appearance. Plus women live longer, so he thought a female subject would be more resilient.”

“So what happened with Eveline?”

“They aged Eveline artificially. Growth hormones and stuff, I don't know. It was going well for them. The others hadn't fared so well. They miscarried. Killed the hosts too. But then we got word that somebody had leaked information about what we were doing, and rival companies started taking an interest, and we had to move her.

“The company persuaded a freight tanker, the Annabelle, to transport her. Me and a colleague volunteered for the job. Another bonus, a bigger pool. My friend Alan was the other volunteer. We were meant to pose as parents to allay suspicion, but Alan wasn't good at it. Eveline creeped him out.”

“Were you fucking Alan?”

Mia laughed.

“I don't fuck everyone I meet, Zoe! Besides, Alan was gay. Had a husband safe at home. Poor Ray. He'll never know what happened to his husband…….

“When the hurricane approached, Eveline got real antsy. Started acting up. I was taking a break, having dinner with some of the crew, and I don't know what Alan did but he pissed her off and she went on a rampage. Injured him, started causing hallucinations. Turned the crew on each other. They started fighting, killing one another. The rest scattered. Then she started vomiting, and before we knew it there were Molded everywhere. That's what we called the monsters: Molded. The mold is alive, in a sense. It has a limited intelligence, like plants do. You know, how they can seek out light and nourishment. And it spreads fast - well, you've seen it.

“Our rivals, Umbrella, they'd tried something similar back in the 90s with viruses, and that went wrong too. We thought we'd nailed it with the mold. Thought we were so fucking clever. You were right when you said we should have known what would happen but we thought we were better than Umbrella. We should’ve looked at Raccoon City before we did anything.”

“Raccoon City?”

Zoe frowned. The name sounded familiar.

“Yeah, they had to nuke it when one of Umbrella’s viruses got loose. It's just a big ruin now. Wiped out completely.”

Mia shrugged.

“You know the rest. I honestly wish I had died on the ship with the rest of them. And that  _ she _ had too. But Eveline wanted a family, and now she's got yours.”

Zoe didn't know how to feel. A chain-reaction of unlikely events had turned her world upside down by pure chance. A series of unfortunate events, as it were. And now she was a prisoner in her own home, run by a lethal tyrant that controlled her family.

“What a fuckin’ mess,” she muttered.

“You got that right,” said Mia.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment.

“You know, I am fixin’ to make another try for that arm at some point,” said Zoe at last.

“Okay,” said Mia. “I'll help, if I can.”

Zoe smirked.

“You gonna take another one for the team? Or two, or three maybe?”

Mia blushed.

“Maybe. If I really had to. Although I doubt he'd go for the whole ‘Let's fuck in the cellar’ thing again. I mean, I don't think he figured out that I was just distracting him, but he got in a lot of trouble for dropping the ball that night. Had to spend two days and nights hung upside down from a tree in the bayou, with his head underwater.”

“Really? Jesus!”

“Didn't seem to hurt him. He said it was boring. And gators kept trying to eat his head.”

Zoe giggled, and after a moment Mia joined in.

“He said he'd do it all over again though for another chance to get into my pants,” she confided, still laughing.

“ _ Really _ ?”

“Yeah. I think he was trying to be romantic,” said Mia. “And maybe get another go. He's been hanging around me  _ a lot _ since that night. I keep having to make excuses not to be around him.”

“He did say earlier you'd been avoidin’ him,” sniggered Zoe.

“Oh, shit! I nearly forgot - I got something else for you. Hang on.”

Mia cautiously peered out of the trailer door and, seeing the coast was clear, hurried outside. Zoe heard rustling in the undergrowth round back, and after a few minutes Mia reappeared in the doorway, puffing, carrying a crate that chinked as she walked.

“Help me get this in, it's heavy,” she panted.

Zoe grabbed a corner and heaved it inside.

It was full of bottles of beer.

“Uh, Mia….I don't wanna appear ungrateful, but….why?”

Mia sat down to catch her breath.

“That's something else I wanted to tell you,” she said. “There's all this beer going spare, because Eveline won't allow Jack or Lucas to drink more than one or two a night, with supper. Want to know why?”

“Duh! Yeah…..”

“Because if you're drunk, Eveline can't read your mind, or control it.”

She laughed.

“Found that out by accident, on the ship. She got really pissed when I had some drinks with the captain, and I thought she was just being disapproving, but turns out she didn't like it because she couldn't tell what I was thinking!”

Mia picked out a bottle and held it up to the light, watching the liquid inside splash.

“I mean, it won't save you from us if she decides to set one of us on you, but she won't be able to get into your head either.”

Mia winked at her.

“Good deal, huh?”

Zoe took a bottle out and looked at it thoughtfully.

“I gotta say, Mia - if push comes to shove, you know that I will throw you under the bus without hesitation if it comes to savin’ myself, right?”

“Uh-huh. You made that clear.”

“Right. An’ I stand by that. But…..do you wanna get drunk with me?”

Mia smiled.

“I’d love to.”

 

“So I take it from what you said earlier that you ain't fucked Lucas since that time in the cellar,” said Zoe.

She didn't really want to know any gory details, but she'd been surprised at Mia’s willingness to have sex with her brother in order to get the door open for her, and still wondered exactly how reluctant she'd been to do it. And now that they had a few beers each in them, she was relaxed enough to ask and to hope that Mia was relaxed enough to answer.

The spirit of full disclosure seemed to still have a hold of Mia, because when she replied it was with disconcerting honesty.

“I haven't, no, but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it. It wasn't all that great - I mean your brother has a lot to learn. Like  _ a lot _ . But….I don't know. It's human nature, I guess, to seek out comfort in whatever form you can get. Just to feel close to somebody for a short time, even if it is fake.”

Zoe thought about Tyler, down in the cells, and understood more than Mia realised. Even though under normal circumstances she still would definitely have been attracted to Tyler, their brief liaison hadn't been appropriate or sensible. But she supposed both of them had needed the same thing, and she was glad he'd gotten some pleasure before he'd died.

“I feel guilty, though,” confessed Mia quietly. “However you look at it, for whatever reason, I cheated on my husband. He's never going to know, and I'm never going to see him again, but…...you'd have thought I could've held it together a little longer before I caved in and fucked someone else.”

Mia looked at the floor, cradling her beer bottle.

“I miss Ethan…..” she whispered, and Zoe realised she was crying. “He's going to think I died, and forget me, and get married again…..and he  _ should. _ He  _ should  _ move on. But still……”

She wiped her eyes, and looked up at Zoe with something almost like defiance.

“I'll probably end up doing it again. Not because I have to, but because I'll need to. Just to get out of my own head for a while.”

Zoe nodded thoughtfully.

“I understand, I think. But ain't you worried about gettin’ pregnant?”

Mia laughed.

“No! I've got an IUD. Good for a few more years.”

Realisation hit Zoe.

“So when Eveline was entertainin’ her whole ‘Let's get a baby in the house’ notion, there weren't no chance o’ you gettin’ pregnant anyways?”

“Nope.”

Zoe frowned, even though she thought it was kind of funny.

“Did you know that Eveline made Lucas cut his dick off as punishment for not bein’ able to make a baby with you?”

“Really? Oh my god! That's horrible. How did he do it, d’you know?” she asked with horrified fascination.

Zoe shrugged.

“I didn't fuckin’ ask, Mia. Scissors or somethin’ maybe?”

Mia sniggered.

“Would have to be a big pair of scissors…….”

“What? Ewww…..”

“No, really! That's the one thing Lucas has got going for him in the bedroom department. First time he got it out, I thought he'd smuggled an anaconda in there!”

“Fuck, Mia! I do not want to know! Jesus……”

“Sorry.”

Mia grabbed another beer.

“I really hope he cleans up his act, though. His personal hygiene has gotten really lax recently. Guess Eveline isn't too concerned about cleanliness.”

“Maybe so, but when Lucas was a kid he weren't too concerned himself. My mother always said he was the grubbiest little boy she ever knew. Had to bribe him to take a bath. An’ even then he'd go straight out an’ get himself filthy again straight after. Now social niceties have gone out o’ the window, reckon he's just devolved back into his old habits.”

Zoe took a long swallow of beer. She'd managed to suppress her appetite with food being so scarce, but the alcohol was making her hungry again. She eyed the sack that Mia had brought over. The woman had taken a big risk smuggling supplies over to her, especially since it had probably meant some sort of sacrifice on her part: From what she'd seen, Mia avoided the contaminated food too, and since her family's diet seem to have disintegrated into cannibalism, Mia had to be hungry a lot of the time.

“What food did ya bring?” she asked.

“Just some stuff I managed to scavenge. This and that. I can get more if you need it - I've got a stash put aside.”

“Wanna share with me?” offered Zoe.

 

“We  _ can't _ make  _ plans  _ while we're  _ drunk _ !” said Mia, slapping her hand onto the table to emphasise her words.

“We  _ can!  _ We can make  _ amazin _ ’ fuckin’ plans! Look, it's simple: This bottle here, that's me, right? And this slice o’ American cheese here is you - “

“Why is the cheese on top of that salami?”

“The salami is Lucas. You gonna let me finish? Anyway, this lipstick is the arm, and that pillow - get off the pillow, Mia - is Momma. You got it so far?”

“What's the ashtray?”

Zoe looked at it blearily.

“That's just an ashtray. You ain't payin’ attention. Now, what we gotta do….Mia! Don't eat the fuckin’ salami! You just ate Lucas!”

“I'm hungry!”

“Well, eat Eveline then. She ain't part o’ this plan.”

“Which is Eveline?”

“The stale almonds.”

“I'm allergic to almonds.”

Zoe sighed.

“Ok. The almonds can be Lucas. Now. While this piece o’ cheese is fuckin’ the almonds, the ashtray is gonna go up the stairs - “

“I thought the ashtray was just an ashtray.”

“Was it? Shit.”

Zoe sighed again.

 

“That ain't the big dipper! I know my fuckin’ stars.”

“It  _ is _ . Look, see the line?”

Mia waved a finger in the air, tracing the outline.

They were lying on the grass outside the trailer, watching clouds scud overhead.

“Naw, it ain't. That's Orion. That's his belt.”

“Why is it moving?”

“That's a….why, that's a shootin’ star….?”

“Too slow for a shooting star.”

Both women sat up, as if moving an extra two feet closer would bring it into focus.

“Listen…….”

They heard crickets chirping, and frogs croaking, and far away the whirr of a motor.

“It's that fuckin’ helicopter…..” said Zoe. “It's back.”

They watched it circling.

“Do you think it's looking for the ship?”

“If it was, surely they'd o’ spotted it by now.”

A chill breeze passed over them. Zoe shivered.

“I’m drunk enough now,” she said. “I don't feel good.”

“Ok Zoe. I'll go inside now.”

Mia struggled to her feet, falling over several times in the process.

Seeing the helicopter had changed the mood of the evening, and whilst it didn't sober them up, both of them felt uneasy.

“Look, Zoe…..I'm real sorry about your friends. That was rough. I wish I could've done something.”

“I don't wanna talk about it.”

“Ok. But if you do….well, I can't promise I'll be able to listen. But you know, I'll want to.”

Zoe waved a dismissive hand.

“Whatever Mia. Don't break yer neck tryin’ ta climb the stairs.”

Mia trod a weaving path across the grass towards the verandah and stumbled up the steps.

The dog head door was apparently locked, but she spent a good few minutes trying to open it anyway, until it swung open from the other side.

“Mia?” Lucas’s voice came from the darkness inside. “Where you been?”

“Just doing stuff. You know. Stuff.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Probably. Yeah…...yeah, I am.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “Reckon I oughta help you up to bed then. Make sure you don't have an accident on them stairs…..”

Zoe sighed.

“Lucas, you creep…..” she muttered, and stumbled into the trailer.

 

For the first time since the cells, there were no bad dreams of Fatima.

Zoe slept, an uninterrupted, beer-sodden sleep until beams of morning light shone through the gap in the curtains onto her face.

The hangover she was facing was bad enough, but the memories from the previous night came flooding back. After all she'd vowed to herself about going it alone and keeping to herself, she'd gotten drunk with Mia. Not only drunk, but had shared confidences and chatted and laughed and cried…... 

The entire remembered episode filled her with regret and shame - like the time she'd gotten wrecked at a party and fucked the sleaziest guy at school.

She moaned as the shifting sun crawled across the sky, bright fingers poking at her eyes.

“Shit……” she croaked through dry lips.

“Good. You're awake.”

Zoe sat up. Eveline was sat on the end of her bed, glowering at her.

“What do you want?” said Zoe.

It probably wasn't the most sensible response, but she was in no mood for Eveline’s scowly face.

“You didn't come in yesterday when I sent Lucas to get you.”

“That's very observant, Eveline,” said Zoe, rubbing her eyes.

Eveline tilted her head to the side.

“Are you being funny, Zoe?”

“Well, I don't hear you laughin’, so I guess I ain't.”

Eveline’s mouth went tight with anger.

“You shouldn't talk to me like that,” she warned.

“Yeah, I know. Must be simple-minded or somethin’.”

Eveline regarded the collection of empty beer bottles scattered around the trailer.

“Why did you get drunk with Mia last night?” she asked suspiciously. 

“For fun. Ain't we allowed a little fun occasionally?”

“Did she tell you anything?”

Zoe plastered a big, shit-eating grin on her face.

“Only how much she loves you, Eveline……”

The child looked confused. Although she had the form of a 10 year old girl, she hadn't been alive for 10 years. The subtleties of sarcasm had probably passed her by, so she didn't know whether to be pissed off or not. It was also possible that Zoe still had enough alcohol in her system that Eveline couldn't get into her head.

“You’d better not be being smart with me, Zoe.”

“I wouldn't dream of it, Evie dear.”

Eveline stared at her a while longer, her forehead wrinkled.

“I don't want you drinking any more,” she said at last. “It's not good for you.”

“Aw. I'm so touched that you're concerned about my health, darlin’.”

_ Fuckin’ little bitch. _

Looking perplexed, Eveline got up to leave, and Zoe felt a thrill of triumph. Mia had been right!

“I want you to come and play with me after breakfast,” said Eveline. “You've been sulking out here long enough. You have to start socialising more.”

Sulking? Zoe clenched her fists under the covers, rage nearly blinding her for moment. She'd been all but destroyed by grief, despair, disillusionment and depression,  and to Eveline it all boiled down to  _ sulking. _

“I'll have to see how I feel, Eveline. I got quite a heada - “

“No,  _ Zoe.  _ You will come over to the house after breakfast. Or I'll send someone over to get you. And they won't ask nicely.”

 

Zoe considered her options. They were few.

She could either go over to the house of her own accord, or she wait here and be dragged over by a member of her family.

She wondered who Evie would send.

 

It turned out to be Lucas.

When the back door to the house flew open it rebounded off the wall with a crash that seemed to shake the ground under the trailer, and Zoe, who'd been lying on her bed trying to summon the energy to get up, suddenly found the motivation she needed.

The noise had been so huge - so thunderous and violent - that she'd immediately thought it was her father, and the possibility sent her into blind panic. The memory of her treatment at his hands - and foot - in the cellar beneath the guest house was still horribly fresh in her mind, and for a moment all rational thought seemed to leave her.

_ Hide under the bed!  _ Her mind screamed.  _ Jump out the window! _

With a shaking hand she drew aside the blanket that covered her window and peered out.

Lucas stood on the verandah, his hood up, his face shadowed, and there was relief until she noted his curious stance: Arms held out from his sides a little too far, legs braced as if poised to leap, his entire body tensed and stiff, almost quivering.

Zoe tried to swallow, but her fear had formed a solid mass that seemed to fill her from her stomach to her throat. There was an aura of menace hanging over him that suddenly made her fear of her father dwindle into insignificance. He looked like Lucas, but the feeling she got from him was the equivalent of coming downstairs during the night and discovering that a stranger had broken into the house.

Almost falling off the bed, Zoe opened the trailer door.

“Tell Eve-line I’m-m comin’ in n-now…….” she attempted through chattering teeth, but the Lucas-thing on the verandah didn't answer, although the shadow under the hood swivelled in her direction. She caught a faint gleam of icy light glancing from within the depths.

Zoe stood on the steps, her legs twitching and heart a hot rock in her chest. She didn't want to go near the monster that wore her brother's form.

Sheer animal instinct kicked in, and before her mind could process what was happening, her feet were running, taking her toward the gate at the other end of the yard that led to the old house.

A sound came from the travesty of her brother that she had never heard the like of before - not the booming, mammalian roar of her father, but a higher pitched, still powerful screech similar to a bird of prey, that caused flocks of sparrows in the trees surrounding the house to take flight in terror.

Zoe screamed as she saw him leap down the steps and hit the ground running, going from a standing start to full pelt in a mere fraction of a second, like a coiled spring that had been released.

She had a head start, but Lucas moved faster than she could ever have believed, that noise still ripping out of his throat as he hammered towards her, shredding the tenuous grip she had on her sanity.

She crashed into the gates, and by some miracle they were unlocked, but she lost precious seconds pushing them open far enough to squeeze through. She had barely gotten past the edge of the rusted metal and started down the path before her brother got there, ripping a gate from its hinges as he barged through without pausing.

She screamed again, the pitch nearly enough to make her throat bleed, letting her feet carry her as her mind shut down.

He hit her in the back, throwing the full length of his body at her, his shoulder catching her in the spine with paralysing force.

Her face hit the ground, dirt filling her mouth and shattering her front teeth.

Lucas landed on her solidly, his breath coming in animalistic pants that scorched the back of her head.

Zoe's hands were beneath her shoulders, where they'd attempted to break her fall, and she tried to push the ground away from her, but for a skinny guy Lucas was suddenly awfully heavy.

She lifted her head, spitting out mud and shards of her teeth, but her face was knocked into the earth again as Lucas bit into her neck with gusto, getting a firm grip with his jaws and shaking his head like a dog worrying a toy.

There was a ripping sound and exquisite pain, blood scalding her shoulders. His weight lifted off her for a second, and she rolled over, seeing him crouched over her, blood masking the lower half of his face, chewing at the lump of flesh he'd torn from her.

Zoe dug her heels into the dirt, meaning to push herself backwards, but he came down on her hard, one knee sinking into her abdomen, the other onto her arm.

The air left Zoe's body in sharp wheeze, mud and blood spraying from her mouth. Lucas leaned over her. His face was threaded through with a network of black veins, crawling under his skin like a roadmap, and his pinpoint pupils studied her agonised face from the centre of his bugged out eyes. They bulged out of his sockets in an almost reptilian fashion.

His mouth split into a too-wide grin, drooling her own blood into her mouth.

Even in the midst of her terror-blurred haze, she could tell the difference between this Lucas and the one that had dealt out the cheerful beating in the main hall a while back. That Lucas had been vicious and gleeful, but at least he had been there. This one was barely human.

His hand went to her face, dirty fingers splaying out, and she thought he was groping for her eyes. Thrashing frantically she lifted her hips from the floor in an attempt to dislodge him, and he uttered a throaty gurgle that could have been a laugh. She squeezed her eyes shut, sobbing, shaking her head from side to side.

He clamped her face in a vice grip, holding her head still and leaned in to her. She felt his nose run a trail up from her bloodied shoulder and along her neck, inhaling deeply, absorbing her scent.

She wept soundlessly, then screamed against his hard palm as he growled and fastened his teeth on her ear, pulling. Her heels drummed against the ground, and she lifted her free hand, groping for his face, trying to lever him off.  Her fingertips found his eyes and she dug in as he tore her ear away from her head.

Lucas reared up, pulling himself away from her reach, tipping back his head and gulping down her ear like a penguin with a fish. Zoe watched the morsel of herself slide down his gullet, his throat bobbing. Her clawed hand swatted at him, but he brushed it away, eyes gleaming down at her.

He licked his lips.

His gaze travelled down her, bloody grin widening as his gaze fastened on the soft skin of her belly, exposed by her struggles. Teeth champing together, he pushed himself back, his knee shifting to the big muscle of her thigh, his head lowering. A droplet of drool landed in her navel. She felt his lips above the waistband of her jeans, his mouth opening wider than seemed possible. She thought wildly back to the dinner table months ago when he'd tried to swallow the hunk of cornbread and she'd expected his jaw to unhinge, and wondered if he was able to do that now. His teeth scraped her skin.

And then he stopped.

Lucas sat up, his knees slipping off her with a thud, his body slumping as though he'd been suspended from invisible strings that had just been cut.

He still had his hand over her face, and removed it with a perplexed expression, looking at the raw gap where her ear had been and the ragged mess on her neck.

“What's goin’ on?” he asked.

He reached up and flipped back his hood. His face was grimy and covered in blood, but the black veins were gone, and the bony, stubbled angles were relaxed.

Zoe couldn't speak. Her entire body trembled, and Lucas frowned down at her.

“Last thing I remember, Eveline was tellin’ me ta go fetch ya. How'd we get out here? An’ why’re you all fucked up?”

He rubbed the sleeve of his hoodie over his chin, regarding the viscous red smear that stained the fabric thoughtfully. He glanced at her wounds again, sucking on his lower lip reflectively, scraping scarlet droplets from scruff of his half-beard with his teeth and pulling them into his mouth. A furrowed crease formed slowly between his eyebrows as, somewhere in his addled brain, synapses attempted to make a connection. A faint spark of clarity appeared to register in his eyes before it guttered and died.

He shrugged.

“Anyways, if Eveline wants you inside, you best go. Ya don't want her doin’ anythin’ serious now, do ya?”

He stood up and wandered off, his feet taking him in an irregular path as though he was dazed.

Weeping, Zoe hauled herself to her feet and staggered after him.

 

The smug look on Eveline’s face was almost too much to bear.

Zoe stood in front of her, sullen, her head bowed. Everything still hurt, but she could feel the nagging itch of slow healing already beginning.

“I told you so,” Eveline sang, evidently satisfied with her surprise. “Maybe next time you won't be so stubborn. Are you going to apologise to me?”

“I'm sorry Eveline,” said Zoe with limp obedience.

“I think you can do better than that,” mused Eveline. “How about: ‘I'm really sorry Eveline for being such a mean old booger.’?”

Zoe hung her head even further.

“I'm sorry Eveline for bein’ such a mean old booger,” she recited.

“No! You were meant to say  _ really  _ sorry. Do it over.”

The miniature dictator forced Zoe to repeat her apology over and over till she was satisfied with the cadence, emotion and sincerity, then sat back happily in her seat.

“There! Now we can be friends again!  _ If _ you remember to behave. Now, what shall we play?”

“Whatever you want, Eveline,” mumbled Zoe.

The girl looked pleased.

“We could give each other manicures,” she suggested.

“That sounds great, Evie,” said Zoe automatically.

Somewhere deep inside, her inner Amazon threw up her hands in despair at such submissive behaviour, but Zoe squashed that bitch down. She never wanted to meet possessed-Lucas again, pride be damned.

 

Mia joined them as Eveline painstakingly painted Zoe’s nails with purple glitter polish. Zoe had been instructed not to move a muscle, and such was her terror of repercussions that Zoe felt uncomfortable even blinking.

Mia looked rough as hell, Zoe saw from her hurried glance sideways, and it was evident that she was blissfully unaware of what had transpired outside earlier. She seemed puzzled to find Zoe in the house, let alone so agreeable and meek.

“Well, hi you two,” she said with false cheer. “This looks cosy! Can I join in?”

“You can watch,” said Eveline, concentrating on Zoe’s pinky finger.

Mia skirted the table and came to sit on Zoe's side. A stifled gasp issued from between her lips as Zoe’s bad side came into view, but she sensibly didn't comment, although Zoe felt the warm pressure of Mia's hand against her knee as she seated herself in the spare chair.

“That's a pretty colour, Evie,” chirped Mia, her smile strained. “Did you choose it?”

“Yes, I did. Because it's Zoe’s favourite.”

Eveline managed to sound enormously magnanimous.

The girl dipped the small brush into the nail polish and attempted to patch up a missed spot, but Zoe flinched when the door to the main hall opened and a dab of polish smeared onto Zoe’s finger. Eveline froze.

“I'm sorry, Eveline,” said Zoe, the words tumbling out in a rush. “That was my fault. You was doin’ a grand job, Eveline, it was me messed it up, I'm real sorry.”

The silence was deafening, and Zoe counted five uncomfortable beats before Eveline finally spoke.

“That's ok, Zoe. I forgive you.”

Eveline screwed the lid back on the bottle as Zoe sagged with relief.

“Let's wait for that to dry, now. Oh look - it's Lucas. Hi, Lucas!”

Finally allowed to look up, Zoe shuddered as she saw Lucas leaning against the wall by the double doors, watching the little group. He gave Eveline a lazy wave, looking utterly relaxed.

“Why don't you come join us, Lucas?” said Eveline, her order thinly disguised as a request.

Lucas paused for a mere second before complying, his expression of annoyance at having to sit in on such a girly activity a brief flicker that would have been hard to spot had Zoe not been watching closely.

His presence put her on edge, despite his relaxed demeanour. She found herself examining his every gesture for any sign of his former brutality, any glimpse of recall of what he'd done, but he seemed as laid back and unconcerned as he ever had.

He pulled up a chair and slumped into it, looking around at the assembled females. His gaze lingered on Mia, who was pointedly trying not to make eye contact.

“Hey, Mia,” he said by way of greeting, his tone unreadable.

“Hey Lucas,” she replied easily, not looking at him, examining the label of a nail polish bottle with every appearance of absorption.

“Fell asleep real fast last night, Mia,” observed Lucas, his voice now bearing a hint of reproach.

Ah. Zoe had been wondering if drunken Mia had obliged him, but it seemed she hadn't.

“Did I? Must have been real tired,” said Mia, putting down one bottle and selecting another.

Lucas’s only response was a huff, and a grumpy curl of his lip.

“Isn't this nice?” exclaimed Eveline happily. “All of us getting along nicely!”

They sat quietly, the three adults: Eveline’s attack dog, the mother she'd adopted by force, and her abused toy.

Eveline giggled.

“I'm glad you decided to play with me,” she said to Zoe, as though Zoe had been given any kind of choice. “I tried to give Lucas a manicure, and he looked silly!”

Zoe risked a glance at Lucas. His ears were red, his eyes downcast.

“Although, he was  _ very _ good at painting fingernails. Did you know that, Zoe?”

“Don't surprise me,” said Zoe truthfully, not missing Lucas’s sharp glance.

He was waiting for her to throw shade, but Zoe had been sincere. She knew how precise Lucas could be when it came to fine detail, and the admission made her think of her highschool prom.

 

_ “Clyde’s gonna be here in half an hour!” wailed Zoe, sitting in a crumpled heap of purple satin on her bedroom floor. _

_ “Hush now, cher, it'll be alright,” said Marguerite in an attempt to soothe her, but her words had the opposite of the desired effect. _

_ “No it won't! It's all gone to shit, Momma! I can't go to prom! When Clyde gets here, tell ‘ im to go away. I'm stayin’ home……” _

_ Even as she wallowed in self-pity, there was part of her that stood back and cussed her out for her orneriness. God knows how her Daddy had managed to scrape together the money for her prom shoes, and Marguerite had worked tirelessly to convert the old ballgown she'd found in the attic to make a beautiful dress for her to wear, but the Zoe on the floor was sunk in misery. _

_ Everything had gone wrong.  _ Everything.

_ Jack had attempted to intervene earlier on, but the the tidal wave of feminine displeasure that Zoe had greeted him with had soon sent him reeling from the room in abject confusion not a little bit of fear and he hadn't so much as poked his head round the door since. _

_ Marguerite floundered, wringing her hands, not sure how to proceed and bring her daughter round. _

_ “Cher, maybe we could - “ _

_ “It's hopeless!” sobbed Zoe. _

_ “Calm the fuck down, Zoe,” came Lucas’s voice from the doorway. “It's just the prom. An’ Clyde Burrows is a limp-dicked fuckwit. He wouldn't say shit if he had a mouthful o’ it.” _

_ Zoe began to inflate her lungs, fully intending to blast him into the stratosphere with her anger, but before she could say a word he was by her side, his hand surprisingly gentle on her shoulder. _

_ “You could turn up wearin’ an old feed sack with a used condom on yer head an’ you'd still look better than those stuck-up hoes at your school Zoe. So chill. We'll sort this out.” _

_ His voice was quiet, and the calm that ran through it seemed to infuse her soul. _

_ “You get on outta here, Momma. I'll deal with Zoe’s problems.” _

_ Once Marguerite had gone, Lucas lifted her to her feet. He hadn't gone to his own prom, instead choosing to spend the night playing video games in the attic with Zoe, but he still seemed to understand how important this was to her. _

_ “Now. Gimme a list o’ what's fucked up, an’ I'll deal with it.” _

_ Zoe wiped tears from her cheeks. _

_ “My zip done broke, my heel’s comin’ loose, Grandma Baker's pendant is too long, my nail polish is smudged, and my hair looks stoopid.” _

_ Even to herself, she sounded like a spoiled, petulant child, but Lucas only nodded solemnly. _

_ “Ok. Well. First things first. Let's get that zip fixed.” _

_ Within the space of 10 minutes he'd mended her zip, glued her heel back on and shortened the chain on the antique silver pendant Grandma Baker had dug out of her jewellery chest. _

_ Next, he examined her fingers, pinpointing the offending nail and wiping off the smudged polish, reapplying the colour quickly and efficiently with a few precise strokes, and blowing on it to dry it faster. _

_ “Now, don't you touch nothin’ with that,” he cautioned, entrusting the upkeep of her nail polish to her amateurish care as he hunted out her curling iron. _

_ “Are you sure you know what you're doin’ with that?” asked Zoe nervously as he plugged it in. _

_ Lucas’s snorted contemptuously. _

_ “Fuckin’ trust me, Zoe. I'm an inventor.” _

_ He descended on her scalp confidently, Zoe cringing as she awaited the smell of burnt hair, but he moved around her without incident, catching up tendrils and primping locks as if he knew what he was doing. When he stepped away 5 minutes later, he eyed her critically, finally nodding in satisfaction before moving to one side and letting her see the mirror. _

_ Zoe regarded herself, turning her head from side to side, her mouth gaping wider with each second. _

_ “Lucas…..” _

_ “Uh-huh?” _

_ “That looks great!” _

_ “Of course it does. I ain't a fuckin’ idiot. Now, how long ‘fore old limp-dick turns up?” _

_ Zoe looked at the clock. _

_ “Ten minutes.” _

_ “Great. Plenty o’ time.” _

_ “For what?” _

_ “All that cryin’ done fucked up yer makeup. Look like a goddam panda. Hold still, now.” _

_ He picked up her eyeliner. _

 

_ Ten minutes later Clyde Burrows knocked on the front door and Zoe descended the staircase with the dignity of a queen, her hair and makeup perfect, her grandmother's pendant dangling tantalisingly against her cleavage, her heels steady as a rock. _

_ Marguerite went misty-eyed, Jack went running for his old camera, and Clyde “Limp-Dick” Burrows gawped at her as though she was Venus ascending from the sea on her half-shell. _

_ Whilst the obligatory photos were taken - Zoe and Clyde; Zoe and Marguerite; Zoe and Jack; Jack and Clyde, with Jack looming over Clyde menacingly, crushing her date’s hand in a near-paralysing handshake -  Lucas loitered in the background, watching over all with a cynical eye. _

_ “We ready to go now?” asked Clyde eventually, eyeing Jack nervously. _

_ “Wait!” urged Zoe. “I wanna photo with Lucas!” _

_ All eyes turned to her brother, who recoiled in horror, but Zoe wouldn't take no for an answer, dragging him into the hall by his arm and forcing him to pose.  _

_ The photo Marguerite took showed Zoe, glowing and happy, clinging to her brother’s arm, while her brother looked awkward and uncomfortable in his old shirt and torn jeans. It was still in the house somewhere, in her prom scrapbook. _

_ Zoe gathered up her skirt to leave, kissing her parents goodbye, and Lucas made to wander off, but before he could leave Zoe dashed up to him on her newly fixed heels and planted a kiss on his cheek. _

_ “I love you, Lucas!” she called over her shoulder as she left, and saw her mother's eyes widen in surprise, groping for the camera hurriedly. _

_ The photo Marguerite snatched at that moment had been framed and put on the table in the hallway. _

 

The poignant memory of her prom night and how Lucas had saved the day brought easy tears to her eyes, and Eveline studied her with keen interest.

“What's the matter, Zoe?” she asked, eager to wring precious some drops of pathos from her subject.

“Nothin’ Evie,” mumbled Zoe.”I was just rememberin’ somethin’. It ain't important.”

Eveline leaned in closer, and Zoe felt the squirming niggle of her attempting to probe her mind. She slammed the door to that memory shut, mentally barricading it. That was hers, dammit, and it was both sweet and sacred. She didn't want Eveline raping it out of her.

The girl scowled.

“I want to know what was making you cry. What did you remember?”

Zoe’s inner Amazon charged forward, brandishing a shield.

Zoe lifted her chin, stretching her mouth into as convincing a smile as she could manage.

“I just remembered how much I love you, Eveline,” she said.

A sentimental teardrop, left over from her real memory, squeezed from her eye and ran down her face.

There was silence, Mia tense on one side, Lucas relaxed on the other.

Eveline sat back, not entirely satisfied.

“Well. Ok. That's nice.”

Lucas snorted.

“Zoe always did cry like a little bitch at the least little thing,” he sniggered. “Should o’ seen her once, when she was like 14, she was sobbin’ her fuckin’ heart out over videos o’ puppies on Youtube.”

“I had PMS,” said Zoe.

Lucas shrugged.

“What's PMS?” asked Eveline.

“Well, Eveline,” said Mia, putting on her Mommy tone, “It's part of growing up for girls. You see, when a girl reaches puberty her body starts preparing her to be a woman…….”

As Mia launched into her spiel, Zoe watched Lucas shrink down into his chair uneasily. He was so  _ Lucas  _ now she could scarcely believe he was the same person who had torn lumps out of her with his teeth less than an hour ago. Even though she knew he'd been fully under Eveline’s control, part of her hated him. She hated that he could be a screeching, bestial monster one minute, hunting her down and willing to eat her alive, then be sitting down and listening to a talk on the female reproductive system the next with no memories or guilt to affect him.

_ I hope my ear gives you fuckin’ acid reflux, _ she thought with savage intensity, her fists curling under the table. It was a poor wish, and in no way equivalent to what he'd done to her, but she liked to think of that solitary ear fighting her corner, refusing to be digested easily.

As if feeling her animosity, Lucas turned his head to look at her. For someone who was so intelligent, Zoe thought her brother could look fucking dumb at times. Lucas’s forehead furrowed, no doubt wondering why she was glowering at him.

As she stared, he suddenly hiccuped and winced, rubbing his chest.

“What's the matter Lucas?” she asked innocently.

“Dunno,” he said. “Must o’ et somethin’ that disagreed with me.”

Zoe sat back in her seat with a certain amount of satisfaction. Good little ear. Give him hell down there.

“.....and that's why girls have periods,” finished Mia.

Eveline’s nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Will that happen to me?” she asked.

Mia hesitated. She really didn't know, Zoe thought.

“Well, yes, it probably will,” she said finally.

Eveline pouted.

“I don't want it…..” she decided.

“Well, I think nature kinda decides for you,” said Mia.

For a moment, Zoe envisioned a teenage Eveline: hormonal, over-emotional, and angsty. She shuddered inwardly. The girl would split the world in half over a broken nail.

“Will I be able to have babies?”

“Well, I guess so. But, you know, you'll have to do the thing that makes babies,” said Mia, carefully not looking at Lucas.

“Eww! I don't want to do that!” said Eveline decisively.

Mia smiled.

“You’ll change your mind when you get older,” she said. “Trust me.”

“Why? Is it fun?”

“Well, it can be,” said Mia.

Zoe was surprised Lucas’s eyes hadn't burned a hole in the side of Mia's head.

“Was it fun when you did it with Lucas?” she asked.

“Well, you know I don't remember that, Eveline,” pointed out Mia uncomfortably.

“Not  _ that  _ time!” said Eveline with exasperation. “The other time. In the cellar.”

Mia faltered.

“I didn't know you knew about that,” she said.

“Daddy Jack told me. He said Lucas thinks with his pee-pee first and his brain second. Only he didn't say ‘pee-pee’,” she giggled, putting her hand over her mouth. “He used a funny word.”

“Well, I don't think we need to hear it,” said Mia primly.

Zoe risked a glance at her brother. His ears were so red he looked like Rudolph the Reindeer’s inbred cousin.

“So I think it must have been fun if you wanted to do it again,” probed Eveline, evidently determined to make the situation as awkward as possible.

“It's complicated, Eveline,” said Mia. “And it's adult stuff that you might not understand yet.”

Eveline’s face darkened. The girl's mood could change faster than the weather.

“I can understand lots of stuff,” she said. “I’m  _ smart _ .”

“Oh, I know you are, honey! But sometimes even smart kids can't understand how adult's minds work,” said Mia in an attempt to mollify her.

Eveline stared, her eyes narrowed. Mia shifted nervously under the pressure of her gaze.

“I can understand,” she said darkly. “I can see that part. You were using him. Why did you do that Mia? Let me see!”

Mia cringed, and Zoe could feel the panic coming off her. And with good reason. If Eveline discovered she'd been in league with Zoe, she'd be in deep shit. They both would.

“You was usin’ me?” cut in Lucas suddenly.

Caught up in the drama, they'd forgotten he was sitting there.

“What? No, Lucas……”

“She was!” insisted Eveline. “I just can't tell why.”

“I thought you liked me……”

Zoe sat between them, ready for all hell to break loose, but to her shock, Lucas didn't appear to be angry. He looked….hurt?

“Oh, I do like you, Lucas. Really.”

Zoe watched her brother's face. He wanted to be angry, she could tell, but his wounded pride was stronger.

“No you don't. Eveline’s right,” he said in a small voice. “You was usin’ me. That - that ain't nice, Mia….”

Lucas swallowed hard, his bottom lip poking out the tiniest bit. Seeing him so upset, Mia softened, reaching out to touch his hand. He pulled it back out of reach.

“It isn't what you think, Lucas,” said Mia. “Maybe it started out like that, but…..”

“Uh-uh. No. I ain't fallin’ for that. You was usin’ me.”

Mia threw up her hands.

“Well, so what if I was. Men do it all the time. I wanted to fuck. You were there. And don't pretend you wouldn't do it again, even now.”

Lucas bristled, but Zoe could see his mind working overtime, trying to decide if being used for sex was a bad thing. Didn't that make him some kind of stud?

She turned to Eveline.

“I didn't want to say because I knew it might hurt Lucas’s feelings and it isn't exactly the kind of thing you discuss with a child, but now you know: I was using him for sex. It might not be ethical, or nice, but it's the truth.”

Eveline relaxed.

“Well, ok then. I thought it was something bad.”

The case closed, Eveline sorted through the bottles of nail polish.

“Your turn now, Mia. What colour do you want?”

Zoe stared. Mia had successfully soothed Lucas’s feelings and averted Eveline’s suspicions. The woman was a fucking genius.


	16. Incoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Baker family prepare to receive a visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not an entirely serious chapter. Was feeling light hearted for some reason. Don't worry, things will return to death and depravity soon.

“Zoe! Get your ass out here! There's work to do!”

It was her mother's voice, the harsh tone that Zoe would never get used to.

She pushed open her trailer door to see Marguerite standing at the bottom of the steps, scowling up at her.

“What work, Momma?” she asked.

Whatever they wanted her to do now, it was sure to be bad, and she steeled herself to prepare for something gruesome.

“House needs cleanin’. Fuckin’ mold everywhere. I ain't doin’ it all maself!”

Stunned, Zoe went down the steps. Since when was cleaning a priority for her new look family?

She wanted to ask her mother, but Marguerite looked grumpy and flustered and merely thrust a plastic cannister of bleach into her hands.

“We're concentratin’ on the main areas. Get to it. I got a lot to do.”

She stomped off, followed by a small cloud of gnats.

 

The table in the main hall was stacked with cleaning products, the primary one being the cheap Hey Bro bleach they sold in crates at the wholesale place two towns over.

Mia was already hard at work, scrubbing the walls and the baseboards. The thin, faded wallpaper disintegrated in parts under the onslaught.

She cast a sideways look at Zoe as she walked in, rolling her eyes expressively.

“What's goin’ on?” whispered Zoe, finding a scrub brush.

“I have no idea,” said Mia. “But Jack’s wandering around yelling at everybody and telling them this place has to be ship-shape. I even saw Lucas with a mop.”

“ _ Really? _ Shit. I was expectin’ somethin’ fucked up when Momma called me out, but not somethin’ fucked up like  _ this. _ ”

Jack burst through the double doors.

“Zoe! Good, yer here,” he bellowed, sounding almost cheerful. “Bathroom upstairs needs cleanin’. That can be your job.”

“Ok, Daddy,” said Zoe immediately. “Can I ask why?”

Her father stared at her, his face completely unreadable. He appeared to be listening, and gave a small nod.

“Need this place to look respectable. We're expectin’ a visitor.”

Behind her, Zoe heard Mia gasp and drop her brush.

“A visitor? Who?”

Jack frowned, his face clouding over, and Zoe realised she'd opened her mouth one too many times.

“I suggest you stop yappin’ and start scrubbin’,” he growled. “Get yerself upstairs an’ get to work.”

Zoe took the stairs at a run.

 

She passed Lucas. He was wielding a mop, and gave her a trapped look as he went by. He seemed Lucas enough for her to risk talking to.

“What's goin’ on, Lucas?” she demanded with more confidence than she felt.

He shook his head and kept walking.

“You do  _ not  _ want to know!” he told her.

“Oh, I do, believe me,” she said following him. “C’mon, you haveta know? What is it? Who’s comin’?”

He stopped abruptly, turning to face her, and she cringed instinctively, expecting a blow from the mop, but his face was more worried than angry.

“I didn't mean for this ta happen! I swear!”

“Didn't mean for what to happen? What is it, Lucas?”

He fiddled with the mop handle, looking distraught.

“It's just Mia's been ignorin’ me, Fatima turned out to be a dyke an’ I just…..I wanted a friend, ya know?”

A horrifying idea rose in Zoe’s mind, like a corpse bobbing to the surface of a lake.

“Oh, no. Oh, Lucas. You didn't, did you?”

“I thought maybe we'd just sext or swap pictures or somethin’. I didn't intend all this!”

“Lucas, please tell me you didn't!”

“Eveline got wind o’ what was goin’ on an’ ‘fore I knew it, she's goin’ on about wantin’ to be a flower girl, and Momma found out, an’ - “

He gestured helplessly.

“Lucas. Tell me I'm wrong……”

Lucas looked away, refusing to meet her eye.

“Rosalie’s comin’ ta visit.”

 

“You can't let this happen.”

Zoe had dragged her brother into the bathroom, shutting the door. He sat hunched over on the edge of the tub, rubbing his face wearily.

“Too late. She's made her plans. An’ Evie’s mind is set.”

“Lucas, you fuckin’ retard! How could you let this happen?”

“It all got outta hand, ok? Jesus H Motherfuckin’ Christ, ya think I expected all this? Eveline wants us ta get  _ married _ , Zoe. I ain't seen the girl for nigh’ on ten years an’ I'm s’posed to persuade her ta marry me!”

Zoe was incredulous.

“That ain't gonna happen though Lucas, is it?”

“Why not?” he bristled. “I ain't that fuckin’ bad…..”

“No, I mean - look, we can clean up the mold, ok, but what about everythin’ else? What about the fuckin’ corpses in the cellar an’ the fuckin’  _ dissection  _ room, goddam it? You can't just cover it up with a fuckin’ tie-dye throw an’ pretend it ain't there! ‘sides, she gets one look at Momma’s crotch-hive, she's gonna run off screamin’, an’ Eveline will hunt her down like dog!”

He frowned.

“Naw…..that won't happen…..will it?”

“Yes, Lucas. It will. An’ if Eveline’s feelin’ extra mean, she's gonna make you be the one to bring her down.”

Lucas shook his head, his jaw set with determination.

“Uh-uh. No. I wouldn't do nothin’ to hurt Rosalie.”

“You would, Lucas,” said Zoe sadly. “If Eveline wanted you to, you would.”

They stared at each other for a long time. She could see Lucas trying to convince himself that he was his own man - that he'd be able to withstand Eveline’s will - but he couldn't quite manage.

“I don't want her gettin’ hurt,” he said quietly. “But like I said - it's too late now.”

“Is it, though?” asked Zoe. “Can't you turn her away? Scare her off somehow?”

“Eveline won't stand fer that,” said Lucas. “She wants a whole big white weddin’.”

He sighed.

“Actually lookin’ forward to seein’ her again. Just don't want all this bullshit.”

“Lucas, listen to me: If Rosalie comes to this house, she ain't leavin’ again. Do you understand what I'm sayin’? Somethin’ bad will happen to her.”

“Yer just bein’ overdramatic, Zoe. I'll look after her.”

He got to his feet.

“Wish I didn't have to all this cleanin’, though……”

Zoe threw up her hands in exasperation.

 

Not knowing what else to do, Zoe began to clean. Her hands quickly became red and raw from the bleach, even though she'd diluted it, and her fingers cracked and bled as she scrubbed. The mold had taken a tenacious hold on the tiles, taking root deep in the grouting, and it was difficult to get rid of.

The fumes stung her eyes, and she began to feel nauseous. The taste and smell of bleach seemed to have infiltrated her body at a molecular level, until she was nearly blinded and retching with deep, gut wrenching heaves.

Dropping her scrub brush, she leaned over the toilet and vomited, her heart pounding at the implications. She kept her eyes closed, unwilling to look at what she was producing, terrified that it would be laced with the black residue that meant more infection. She'd been so careful!

A long tendril of drool dangled from her mouth, and she spat, the back of her throat raw.

“Pleasepleaseplease……” she muttered to herself, prying open one eye.

To her relief, the bowl was only filled with what part of her breakfast she hadn't digested yet, and whilst she mourned the loss of her precious food, she was glad the vomiting hadn't been due to the mold.

She rinsed her mouth and picked up her brush again.

 

“Mia, you gotta fuck Lucas again.”

Mia ran a damp cloth over the kitchen counter. The smell of bleach was thick in the air.

“Hi, Mia!” said Mia. “How are you doing, Mia? You okay? What's been going on with you?”

Zoe stared at her in confusion. Mia sighed.

“You know, that's how normal people start a conversation……”

She shook her head, wringing out the cloth.

“But then, this isn't a normal situation, I guess. Ok, Zoe. I'll bite: Why do I have to have sex with your brother?”

“So that he won't be interested in fuckin’ Rosalie.”

“Who's Rosalie?”

“The one we're gettin’ all this ready for.”

“Ok, but  _ who  _ is she?”

“Lucas’s childhood sweetheart. She was a real nice girl and I'm bettin’ she's a real nice woman, an’ if she comes here, somethin’ terrible is gonna happen.”

“And you think if I do the nasty with Lucas again she won't come?”

“Yeah. Really fuck his brains out. Make him so stupid he won't even  _ think  _ about Rosalie.”

“I have to say, Zoe, you have a lot of faith in my abilities.…..”

“Please, you gotta try! Fuck ‘im raw!”

“Jesus, Zoe! Your imagery is kind of disturbing…….and if I'm being quite honest, I think you've overestimated my appeal….”

“We have to do something! I don't think I could stand to see what this family would do to that sweet girl, an’ if you give him somethin’ to keep his cock occupied, keep ‘im despunked regular, he might just decide he ain't interested in her comin’ here after all.”

“I dunno, Zoe…...you're expecting an awful lot of my vagina…...it isn't magic, you know. It doesn't have the power to erase his memory.”

Zoe threw up her hands in despair.

“It's worth a fuckin’ try, ain't it? I don't know what else to do!”

“Have you tried contacting her yourself, warning her off?”

“Callin’ her would be risky on the phones in here. An’ my phone disappeared long ago.”

“What about Lucas’s laptop in the attic?”

Zoe paused.

“I guess…..maybe…...but then we got the same problem o’ gettin’ to it without bein’ found out…..Would need a distraction…..”

“Zoe, I'm not going fuck your entire family. There are limits.”

“I wasn't gonna ask you to…..” glowered Zoe.

Mia picked up a bottle of bleach.

“We're cleaning, aren't we?” she pointed out. “Let's go  _ upstairs _ and clean.”

 

“Does he have it password protected?” asked Mia.

“Yeah, but I reckon it'd be the same password as his phone: His birthday.”

They'd made it to the old bedroom without incident, brandishing brooms and buckets confidently, and now they stood at the bottom of the ladder looking up.

“Well, here goes nothin’,” said Zoe, and began to climb.

The attic seemed pretty much normal, mold at a minimum. There was a snarl of blankets tangled on the old couch up there, and some threadbare pillows.

“He's been sleepin’ up here?” said Zoe

“Not just sleeping,” said Mia, eyeing the stained blankets with distaste. “Hey, is this Rosalie?”

The photo Rosalie had sent of herself had been thumbtacked to a rafter where the roof sloped. It could be viewed easily by someone lying on the couch.

“That's her,” confirmed Zoe.

Mia unpinned the picture curiously. It was faded and creased, soft around the edges, a clear thumbprint on the lower left corner.

“She's real pretty,” said Mia. “And well-endowed. And clean, and well-fed…….I don't know if I can compete with that.”

“Well, you may not have to,” said Zoe. “Imma do my best to stop her from coming here.”

She unfolded Lucas’s laptop and booted it up, drumming her fingers impatiently on the desk.

Mia peered over her shoulder as Zoe typed in the code, punching the air with a mini fist-pump when she got it right first try.

“1019? His birthday was then?”

“Yeah. We just missed it cuz o’ your arrival. He's 23 now, an’ we didn't do nothin’ to mark the occasion.”

Zoe wondered what she'd been doing on that date. Had that been when she was ill?

Her attention was diverted when she opened up the browser. She had been about to login to Facebook, knowing Rosalie had been looking for photos of her brother on there, but it was already logged in….to  _ her  _ account.

“Goddammit, Lucas! He's been usin’ my social media accounts again!”

“Did he always do that?”

“Oh, yeah. Never made them himself. Just hacked mine so he could spy on my friends. He got me banned from Facebook more than once, postin’ inappropriate content. An’ he'd friend complete strangers on my behalf, real creeps who used to spam my inbox with dick-pics. An’ once he changed my settin’s so all my statuses an’ posts were hidden from everyone. Took me a week to find out. Spent the whole time thinkin’ everyone was ignorin’ me - not one single Like or comment! Such an asshole……”

Zoe opened up Messenger. Rosalie’s smiling face was in a circle at the top of the list.

Cautiously, Zoe scrolled through the chat. There was a lot of it. She found the first messages:

 

_ Hey, Rosalie! This is Lucas on Zoe's account. _

 

_ Lucas! Omg! That really u? _

 

_ Uh-huh, its me :) Hyd? _

 

_ I thought u didn't want to contact me! Omfg im so excited! _

 

_ I lost your letter :( But I just had to get in touch….. _

 

Zoe skimmed the rest of it, picking out a sentence here and there. She'd been expecting some graphic sexual content from Lucas, if she was honest, but he was surprisingly respectful, and most of the conversation was merely mildly flirtatious. She scrolled quickly to the end. There were a lot of late night chats and the talk became a little more suggestive.

 

_ Do u think about me a lot? _

 

_ O yeh, think about u so much makes my arm ache…….;) _

 

_ Stahp, Lucas! Omg….you're making me so hoooottt….. _

 

_ Wow, really? Wish I could do it in person…..;) _

 

_ So do I……:p _

 

_ Heh heh why don't u cum see me, then? _

 

_ Really? U wanna? _

 

_ Well yeah. Ofc. Why wouldn't i wanna see ur pretty face? _

 

_ And the rest ? ;) _

 

_ O wow, yes! Yes yes yes….please omg…. _

 

_ Lol Lucas ur so funny! Ok, lemme check my dairy _

_ *diary lol _

 

There were plans. A date. Some hints that Lucas would like a more risque photo to keep him company at night. She'd apparently obliged after a prolonged session of begging, but thankfully had sent that pic to his phone.

Grimly, Zoe lined the cursor up in the text box. Rosalie was apparently active now.

 

_ Hey, Rosalie. This is Zoe. On my own account. _

 

_ Zoe???? Lucas told me u didn't use this account any more! Well this is embarrassing….. _

 

_ Don't b embarrassed. Just listen: U can't come here. U have 2 stay away. Trust me. _

 

_ What? Why? _

 

_ It's dangerous. Lucas isnt the person u think he is anymore. Stay away!!!!! _

 

_ Zoe ur being weird. _

 

_ I'm serious! Please, Rosalie, u don't understand….. _

 

_ I think I do. I think u want to keep me away from Lucas. Ur not being fair. _

 

_ No! Thats not true! _

 

_ Lucas said u might try something like this. He said u were jealous. Look, Zoe, I don't care if you're a lesbian, really, but please understand I don't feel the same way. I'm sorry. I respect u and ur sexuality and don't have a problem with it but I'm interested in your brother. _

 

Zoe sat with her mouth hung open, ignoring the tittering from Mia behind her.

“That bastard!” she fumed. “He already thought o’ everythin’!”

She hit capslock.

 

_ ROSALIE IT AINT WHAT U THINK! _

 

_ Please don't be angry, Zoe. I know it's a sensitive subject, and I'm really very flattered! _

 

_ I AM NOT ATTRACTED TO YOU ROSALIE YOU HAVE 2 BELIEVE ME! PLEASE DONT COME HERE!!!!! I'M DEADLY SERIOUS!!!!! _

 

_ Look, Zoe, it's ok. I understand. You're a lovely person. But I want to see Lucas. And I'm going to. Signing off now, ok? See you soon xxxxx _

 

Rosalie went offline.

Zoe typed for several more minutes but it was no use, she didn't reply.

“Shit,” said Zoe. “Not only is she still comin’, now she thinks I got a crush on her. This is gonna be real awkward.”

Zoe switched off the laptop.

“I did my best,” she said. “Lucas got there first, though, damn him!”

She looked at Mia.

“Might be time for Plan B,” she said hopefully.

“More like Plan F…..” said Mia darkly. “Seriously, I don't know how good you think I am, Zoe…..”

“Just give it yer best shot,” said Zoe encouragingly, giving her a friendly punch on the arm. “The old college try.”

There were footsteps down below, climbing stairs, and both women froze.

“Shit! Who's that?” Zoe panicked.

“I don't know! You stay up here, I'll pretend to clean the bedroom. Hide in that closet if anyone wants to come up.”

Mia descended the ladder with breakneck speed, switching the button on the trophy-lamp once she got to the bottom and sending the ladder back up. Grabbing a broom, she made a big show of sweeping the floor, just in time as the door crashed open and Lucas stumbled in.

Zoe spied on them through the open attic hatch, keeping to the shadows, not daring to move in case any creaking gave away her presence.

Lucas still had his mop, but it looked dry, and she suspected it was just a prop he was carrying to make him look busy in case he was told to do something.

Mia and Lucas stared at each other suspiciously.

They both spoke at the same time.

“What are you doing here?”  _ “What are you doin’ here?” _

Mia leaned on her broom handle.

“I'm cleaning,” she said. “You?”

Lucas brandished his mop.

“Cleanin’.”

Zoe saw him glance longingly at the attic hatch. He'd evidently planned on making his escape up there - to do what she didn't know.

“Where's Eveline?” asked Mia, resuming her sweeping.

“Drawin’ pictures o’ weddin’ dresses…..” said Lucas glumly.

“Why's that?”

“She wants me to get married so she can be a flower girl,” he muttered, kicking the base of his mop grumpily. “That's why we're cleanin’. Expectin’ an old friend o’ mine.”

“ _ Married? _ Oh no!”

“Why’re you so upset about it?” demanded Lucas. “Don't affect you!”

Mia shrugged, not looking at him, aiming her broom at an imaginary heap of dust.

“I don't know. Just…..jealous I guess……”

“Jealous?” She had his interest now. “Why?”

“You get married, I lose my playmate.”

Lucas snorted.

“You ain't shown much interest in me lately,” he pointed out. “In fact, I'd say you been avoidin’ me!”

“Oh, I haven't been doing that.”

“You have. An’ it's funny how all o’ a sudden yer interested again now ya know I got someone else on the way. You don't really like me. I know what's goin’ on here.”

“You do?”

Mia sounded guilty, and Zoe felt it all the way up in the attic. Was it possible Lucas had figured out their deception?

“Yeah. You're objectifyin’ me. I ain't just a lump o’ meat with a dick, ya know! I got feelin’s!”

Hearing that, Zoe felt an enormous amount of relief, coupled with the insane urge to giggle helplessly. Poor Lucas, having to come to terms with his role as sex object.

“I'm not doing that, Lucas. Honestly,” said Mia truthfully. “It's just difficult for me.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel guilty!” said Mia. “I'm married, first of all, and if that weren't enough, here I am fantasising about a man what - 7 years younger than me? It's embarrassing. I feel like a dirty old woman.”

“You ain't old,” said Lucas. “Sure are dirty, though, as I recall…..”

Mia giggled.

Up in the attic, Zoe marvelled at Mia’s ability to switch so quickly. The woman had skills. Maybe that's why she'd been chosen to escort Eveline - because of her talent at fakery, to pretend affection for the monster masquerading as a child. Whatever the reason, Lucas seemed to be convinced.

Zoe couldn't see Mia’s face, but when she spoke her voice was teasing and flirty.

“Since you're here, Lucas, I got this problem I was hoping you could help me with. See, I got this itch needs scratching……..”

Mia’s voice was all honey now, warm and golden and sweet.

Whatever she claimed about her abilities between the sheets, Zoe had to admit she certainly had the powers of persuasion on her side. When Mia turned on the charm like that, even Zoe could've been enticed to fuck her.

There was a long silence.

Mia sighed.

“Ok, for the purposes of clarity, the itch I'm referring to is in my vagina, and I'd like you to scratch it with your penis.”

“Oh! Shit. Uh…..I ain't sure that's a good idea, Mia.”

“What? Why not?”

“I'm kinda waitin’ on Rosalie…..”

“She's not here now, though, is she?”

Zoe heard the broom fall to the floor, and there was a lengthy period of silence punctuated by sloppy, kissing sounds.

“C’mon, Lucas,” murmured Mia. “Don't let me down, huh?”

“Aw, I dunno Mia……. I mean when she arrives……….we can't keep on doin’ this….holy shit, that's nice…..”

“Whatever you say Lucas,” agreed Mia.

“I don't want you two………..fightin’ over me,” said Lucas, sounding breathless.

“I promise I won't do anything like  _ this _ when she gets here,” said Mia, doing something that drew a half-groan, half-sob from Zoe's brother.

“Ohhhhh shit, okay Mia…..you win……”

There was a creaking sound of tiny bedsprings.

_ Shit, no! Not here! Not now! _

The prospect of sitting utterly still up in the attic while being forced to listen to Mia and Lucas bumping uglies down below was not an attractive one.

“Uh, maybe we should go to my room?” suggested Mia as though hearing Zoe's thoughts. “This bed's a little small.”

“Nah, we can't. Momma’s cleanin’ in there. There's always the floor.”

“Lucas, I'm not doing it on the floor!”

“Well, where then?” he huffed, clearly exasperated.

“Oh, I'm sure we can find somewhere……”

They left the room, leaving Zoe, she now realised, trapped in the attic.

 

It wasn't a huge drop, but it still took Zoe a fair amount of courage to convince herself to dangle from the hatch. She didn't want to make a noise, and groped with her feet for the dresser against the wall, hoping to climb down that way, but things didn't go to plan and instead of landing cat-like as she’d intended to, she dropped like a stone onto the bare wooden floor.

Almost immediately there was an angry screech from the other side of the house.

“Who's makin’ all that goddam noise?” demanded Marguerite. “Can hardly hear maself think!”

A door slammed open, and Zoe grabbed her bucket and dashed into the bathroom. It still reeked of bleach in there, but she figured she'd have to tolerate the fumes as best she could.

She picked up the scrub brush she'd left in there and started to rub it against the tiles at a frantic pace.

Her mother burst into the room.

“What was all that bangin’?” she yelled.

“What bangin’, Momma? I didn't hear nothin’.”

Marguerite sneered at her.

“Must be fuckin’ deaf as well as slow, girl. Ain't you finished in here yet?”

“Nearly done, Momma,” said Zoe, still scrubbing.

“Well get yer thumb out yer ass an’ finish up. I wanna be able to see my face in those tiles!” she warned, and stomped out of the room.

The minute she'd gone, Zoe dropped the brush and tried to control the shaking in her hands. She would never get used to the vicious harpy her mother had become.

She could hear the woman's irregular footsteps making their way along the hall, and wondered where Lucas and Mia had gone.

She had her answer soon enough.

 

_ “What in the name of God is goin’ on here?” _

Zoe cringed instinctively at the furious shriek her mother uttered. Someone was in trouble, and for once it wasn't her.

“Marguerite, I can explain - “

Mia’s voice, on the verge of panic, was high and faltering.

“Ain't nothin’ to explain, ya filthy whore! I got eyes! Seducin’ my boy, and you a married woman, too! Ya oughta be ashamed o’ yerself! Now get the hell outta my sight! I'll deal with you later…..”

Zoe peered out of the bathroom door just in time to see Mia scurry past, her shoes in her hand, her jeans undone, clutching her top to her naked chest. She threw a frightened glance in Zoe's direction but didn't stop.

Curious, Zoe crept along the hall. Her mother was now berating Lucas, her anger at full throttle.

“What do ya think yer doin’, Lucas? You got that sweet girl on her way here an’ yer messin’ around with that slut!”

“Momma, I'm sorry Momma!”

Lucas’s voice was rapid and desperate. There was the sharp, unmistakable sound of a slap, and her brother howled.

“You dirty little bastard! This ain't how I brought you up, carryin’ on with other men's wives! An’ in yer grandmother's bed too, God rest her soul! I  _ swear _ , she would  _ turn _ in her  _ grave! _ ”

More slapping sounds punctuated her words.

“She was cremated, Momma. Ow! Ow! Stop hittin’ me, Momma!”

“Don't you get smart with me, young man!”

Cautiously, Zoe peered around the doorway of the rec room.

Lucas was backed into a corner, naked, his hoodie clasped over his groin in an attempt to save his dignity. His free hand tried to fend his mother off, but he was fighting a losing battle, Marguerite’s unerring aim finding a different spot to slap every time. Lucas’s arm flailed madly, covering one area only for his mother to slap a different one.

“It weren't my idea, Momma!” he babbled, a stinging blow catching him across the shoulder. “It was Mia’s!”

“You could o’ said no! But you didn't, did ya? Too busy thinkin’ about yer nasty little pecker….”

“It ain't little!” protested Lucas, getting a slap around his head for his trouble.

“I oughta cut it off!” snarled Marguerite.

“Not again…..” moaned Lucas.

“Now get yerself dressed and make yerself respectable! I'll be tellin’ yer father about yer shenanigans, mark my words!”

With that, Marguerite delivered her parting blow, dodging around his hip to smack his bare ass as he cowered in his corner. Zoe had to put her hands over her mouth to stifle the giggle that threatened to burst out.

Their mother stalked out of the room using the door on the other side, muttering to herself as she went.

Lucas’s torso was covered in rosy slap marks that started to fade almost immediately, and Zoe doubted they'd hurt him that much, but his wounded pride was plain in the sulky look on his face, his bottom lip stuck out in a sullen pout, his ears burning with outrage.

He caught sight of Zoe lurking in the doorway, and turned his anger on her.

“Fuck off, Zoe!” he snapped.

Knowing he wouldn't chase after her butt-naked, Zoe felt confident ignoring his order.

“Aw, poor Lucas!” she sniggered. “Did Momma give you a spankin’?”

His face flushed to match his ears, his eyes glaring at her with pure murder.

“Get the fuck outta here!” he shouted.

“Or what?”

Lucas looked down at himself helplessly.

“You fuckin’ wait,” he warned.

_ “Lucas? Ain't you dressed yet?” _

Lucas flinched visibly at the sound of his mother's voice.

“Momma, it's Zoe! She's teasin’ me! Tell her to stop!”

_ “If you ain't dressed an’ down these stairs in one minute, I'm comin’ to fetch ya!” _

Laughing, Zoe left him to it.

 

By the end of the day, Zoe was exhausted and the smell of bleach clung to her clothes and skin. She went downstairs to hand in her cleaning equipment and make her escape to the trailer.

Mia was scrubbing the dinner table while Eveline played with her dolls.

“Hey, Mia,” said Zoe wearily.

Mia regarded her with eyes full of misery, but didn't reply.

“She can't open her mouth for a while,” said Eveline without looking up from her game.”Not after what Momma Bear saw her doing to Lucas.”

“Oh,” said Zoe, not knowing what else to say.

Mia continued with her task, silent tears running down her cheeks.

“But, I thought you were okay with Mia an’ Lucas…..doin’ stuff.”

Eveline stood up and turned to face Zoe, clutching a babydoll by its arm.

“Not if it messes up Lucas and Rosalie getting married. If I don't get to be a flower girl, I'm going to be really. Really. Mad.”

She scowled at Mia, who put her head down and kept on cleaning, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“But how’s she gonna eat, Eveline? How's she gonna drink?”

“She isn't,” said Eveline. “Not until she won't even  _ think _ about touching Lucas again. She's lucky. Daddy Jack was going to sew up her hoo-hah.”

Zoe winced at the mental image. Her father used to have harness needles for fixing saddles and tack - huge, evil looking things - and she couldn't help but imagine him wielding one of them, rusty and blunt. She shuddered.

“Lucas needs to be punished too,” sighed Eveline, with the air of a girl who had a lot to do and not enough time. “What do you think I should do with him, Zoe?”

Eveline’s eyes gleamed with merry spite as she watched Zoe struggle for a suggestion.

“Well, I don't know, Eveline,” said Zoe finally. “But maybe don't do nothin’ too, uh, messy…..or disfigurin’.....cuz you know, he has to look good for Rosalie……”

Eveline nodded solemnly.

“That's true,” she conceded. “I'll have to think about it.”

She turned away and began playing with her dolls again.

“You can go now,” she said.

Having been dismissed, Zoe hurried out to her trailer.

 

The next morning brought Marguerite to her door again with more duties for her. Zoe felt queasy at the thought of having to clean up more mold, but her mother had other plans in mind.

“Go see Eveline,” she said shortly. ”She's got a job for you.”

Zoe didn't want to go, but she didn't dare disobey a direct summons from the devil girl after last time.

She forced herself to eat some of the supplies Mia had smuggled out to her, even though anxiety was twisting her gut into a turmoil. The day of Rosalie’s arrival was growing ever nearer, and both Zoe’s plans had failed.

Poor Mia. Now that she thought about it, Plan F hadn't been that great of an idea: The decision was Eveline’s, ultimately, not Lucas’s, and Mia could have fucked him constantly from now till Rosalie arrived and it wouldn't have made any difference.

Zoe made her way over to the house.

 

Eveline was holding court in the old kids room. Mia was with her, still mute and looking more miserable than ever.

“Hi Zoe!” said Eveline. “I need your help getting Lucas ready.”

“ _ Lucas? _ What have I gotta do?” asked Zoe, bewildered.

“He needs to take a bath. He's  _ stinky _ .”

Eveline held her nose.

“And he needs something nice to wear. And to shave, and…..”

Eveline shrugged, the entire male hygiene routine a mystery to her.

“All that stuff. Make him nice for Rosalie. She's arriving tomorrow.”

So Zoe was going to be complicit in the deceit, preparing her brother to be presented.

“Uh, well okay, Evie. But why me? Why not Daddy?”

“Daddy Jack and Momma Bear have to tidy themselves up,” said Eveline. “They look yucky too. I'm putting you in charge of making sure everyone looks smart. Mommy here is going to help me, aren't you?”

Mia nodded, eyes downcast.

“Off you go,” ordered Eveline. “Oh, and just a warning - Lucas is going to be different today. I want to make sure he doesn't think about adult stuff.”

 

“I don't  _ wanna _ take a bath!”

Zoe had been concerned that her brother would be violent, but rather Lucas seemed to have regressed about 20 years, and she was struggling to remain patient.

“You have to, Lucas. Eveline said so.”

“She did?”

He looked crestfallen.

Zoe had found him sitting cross legged on the floor of the rec room doing a jigsaw puzzle, assembling it with a concentration that the 259-piece puzzle did not warrant.

After yesterday's fiasco, and Zoe's caution about the nature of his punishment, Eveline had apparently decided that an appropriate discipline and safeguard for Lucas would be to mess with his mind rather than his body.

“Come on now, Lucas,” cajoled Zoe. “I've got you a bath ready. You just gotta get in.”

“My rubber ducky in there? I ain't gettin’ in no bath without my rubber ducky!”

“I'll find your rubber ducky.”

“An’ bubbles? Did you putted bubbles in?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes, Lucas. I put bubbles in.”

Lucas punched the air.

“Yeah! Love me some bubbles!”

Lucas got to his feet, clumsy, as though he wasn't sure how to direct his long, adult limbs.

Zoe held out her hand, meaning only to bustle him from the room, but to her surprise he took her hand in his own.

They walked along the hall, Lucas swinging their hands between them. When they reached the bathroom door, Lucas peered in doubtfully.

“I ain't gonna cry,” he told her, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

“Of course you ain't gonna cry. It's just a little water. And you're a big, brave boy.”

“I might melt, though.”

“You won't melt, Lucas.”

“What if I go down the plughole?”

Zoe took a deep breath.

“That won't happen either. Just get undressed and get in the tub. I'll find you some toys to play with. And mind you scrub behind your ears! I'll be checkin’.”

Muttering to himself, Lucas entered the bathroom as though walking into a lion's den.

 

A brief search in the old toy box turned up a toy boat and a rubber alligator but no ducky. Hoping Lucas would be appeased by these offerings, Zoe returned to the bathroom.

Lucas had left the door open, and was sitting in the tub, waist deep in bubbles, splashing the water happily. The only progress he seemed to have made with cleaning himself was to construct himself a beard out of bubbles.

“Look, Zoe! I'm Santa!” he crowed.

“Very nice. Here.”

Zoe held out the toys to him. He frowned.

“Where's my rubber ducky?” he demanded.

“I couldn't find it. But look, this here's better - an  _ alligator _ ……”

She waggled it at him invitingly. He regarded it with suspicion.

“An’ I got you a nice boat, too.”

His face crumpled.

“Want ma ducky…..”

“Gators are better than duckies!” insisted Zoe. “You like gators, don't you? An’ this gator can eat the boat, look….”

She nudged the gator’s snout against the helm of the boat, making  _ Nom-nom _ sounds and feeling ridiculous.

Lucas laughed, and snatched the toys from her.

 

It took Zoe longer than she'd anticipated to get her brother cleaned up, firstly because he refused to do it himself and secondly because he didn't want water on his face.

She scrubbed his back for him as he played with his bath toys, and faced a mini rebellion when she attempted to clean his ears, only managing to get his permission by promising him ice-cream afterwards. And still he acted like it was some form of torture. She hoped he'd forget about the ice cream by the time she'd finished, as she had no way of getting him any.

When it came to wash what was left of his hair he was fine during the shampooing process, but she forgot to warn him when she was rinsing and he nearly screamed the house down when water got in his eyes.

“Momma! Zoe's drownin’ me!”

“Lucas, it's just a little water! You ain't gonna drown! Here, hold the washcloth over your face…..Okay, here comes the water……..”

Lucas spluttered and gasped theatrically, but she got the suds out.

 

Zoe found a rusty safety razor in the cabinet under the sink, and a can of shaving foam with a dab left in it.

She approached her brother, brandishing the items.

“What's that?” he asked, pausing in his play to watch her suspiciously.

“It's a razor, Lucas.”

His eyes widened.

“You gonna cut me?” he said, his voice plaintive.

“Not if you keep still…..”

He took her at her word, motionless as she smeared the shaving cream over his jaw, not even moving his eyes. Carefully, Zoe began to scrape the stubble from his skin.

Lucas had never shaved very often before Eveline had arrived, and she doubted he ever bothered now, so it was a mystery to her as to why he didn't have a full beard. It was odd, to say the least - as if his body were in some kind of stasis, preserved in its current form.

She finished her task without incident, wiping his face clean afterward. His denuded skin was was pink and smooth and made him look years younger.

Lucas sighed with relief.

“I thought for sure you was gonna cut me,” he confessed. “I kept real still though, didn't I?”

“Yes, Lucas. You did real good. C’mon now, we best get you out.”

She turned away as he climbed out of the tub, only looking back once he was safely wrapped in a towel. He clutched his toys as she dried the fluff on the back of his head, shivering as suds dripped off him.

He was kind of a pain in the ass like this, and hard work, but she almost wished he'd stay like it.

 

Lucas’s closet was full of old jeans and a selection of hoodies. He rarely bothered to hang stuff up, just tossing it all in a pile at the bottom, so Zoe was struggling to find something “nice” for him to wear.

Lucas played on the floor in his shorts, unconcerned. He'd found a toy car and was trying to stuff the alligator into it.

Zoe was so far in Lucas’s closet she thought she'd end up in Narnia, but she finally found the  black buttoned shirt he'd worn to Grandma Baker's funeral. It was creased to shit, but nothing she couldn't deal with.

Selecting his tidiest pair of blue jeans, Zoe folded them over her arm, and picked out another clean outfit for him for him to wear in the meantime, tossing them to him.

“Here you go, Lucas. Put some clothes on.”

Lucas batted them aside.

“I don't wanna wear pants.”

“Well, you didn't want a bath either, but look how much you enjoyed that,” pointed out Zoe.

Grumbling, Lucas began to get dressed. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and paused, one leg in his jeans.

“Zoe, look!”

“What is it, Lucas?”

“That stuff growin’ outta ma face! It came back!”

Curious, Zoe peered at him. He was looking in the mirror, turning his head from side to side in fascination. His stubble had grown back to its previous length.

“Well, shit!” said Zoe, exasperated.

Lucas gawped at her.

“Zoe, I'm tellin’ Momma you said a bad word!”

“Momma won't care.”

She sighed.

“We're just gonna have to hope that Rosalie likes the rugged look. C’mon, now. Put yer pants on.”

 

Downstairs, Eveline was drawing at the dinner table, using her customary black crayons to design a very gothic looking wedding dress.

“I'm all clean now, Eveline,” Lucas told her proudly as soon as he entered the room.

“I was real good an’ didn’t cry  _ once,”  _ he bragged. “Ain't that right, Zoe? Tell ‘er!”

“It's true. He didn't cry,” confirmed Zoe. “I got him some decent clothes, too. Just need to iron them.”

She showed Eveline what she'd chosen, and the girl nodded in approval.

“When, uh….when you gonna change him back, Eveline?” asked Zoe. “I mean, I don't mind - he's kinda sweet - but he can't stay like this when Rosalie gets here.”

“I might keep him like this a while longer,” decided Eveline. “I like him like this.”

Lucas grinned.

“Lucas. You want to play with me?” asked Eveline.

“Yeah!” said Lucas excitedly. “Long as it ain't no girly games. I'm a big boy. I don't play with no dolls…..”

“I know just the thing!” said Eveline, his enthusiasm contagious.

She got up from the table and took Lucas’s hand. Almost as an afterthought, she turned to Mia, sitting silent in the corner.

“Are you sorry, Mommy?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at the woman.

Mia nodded, trying to convey in the gesture how regretful she was.

“Okay. You can open your mouth now.”

Eveline left the room even as Mia’s jaws unclenched, not looking back as her Mommy-figure took deep, gasping breaths.

Zoe hurried over to her.

“Shit, Mia! You okay?”

Mia rubbed at her jaw, opening and closing her mouth. Tears ran from her eyes.

“I'm alright,” she croaked.

Zoe fetched her a glass of water and the woman gulped it down gratefully.

“Did she just tell you that you weren't allowed to open your mouth, or…..?”

“I  _ couldn't  _ open it,” said Mia. “It was like it was glued shut. It was horrible.”

Feeling awkward, Zoe rubbed her shoulder.

“I'm real sorry, Mia,” she said. “I had no idea it would go so wrong.”

“It's okay.” Mia waved the apology away. “I knew what I was getting into. But Eveline won this round. No more blowjobs for Lucas. No more  _ anything  _ for Lucas. Rosalie’s welcome to him.”

She gave Zoe a haunted stare.

“I don't want my hoo-hah sewn up.”

 

The bustle of activity the following morning began early, and Zoe was roused from her sleep by Lucas kicking open her trailer door.

“Goddam it, Lucas! I just fixed that!” she groaned, rubbing her eyes.

“Don't care. Time to get up, shithead.”

Adult Lucas was back, full of belligerence, although he had his shirt buttoned up wrong.

“For fuck’s sake, Lucas. Look at you! You get dressed in the dark?”

Lucas looked down at himself.

“How in the fuck did that happen?” he grumbled, unbuttoning it.

“Get outta my trailer, asshole,” said Zoe, throwing a pillow at him. “Unless you need help dressin’ yerself…..”

He glowered at her but retreated, swinging the broken door shut behind him.

“Dress nice!” he bawled as he left.

Zoe sat up blearily. She felt like shit, almost as if she was hungover, though she hadn't touched a drop.

Dragging herself from her bed she ambled over to her closet. She'd been hand washing her clothes, and there was a selection in her laundry basket. She was sorting through them, looking for a dress to wear, when Mia hesitantly pushed open the trailer door.

“Okay to come in?” she asked.

“Sure, why not,” said Zoe. “Lucas already broke the goddam door in…..”

“He's back to normal then?”

“Unfortunately yes.”

“That's a shame. He was kind of cute. Spent the night cuddling his stuffed alligator. Eveline read him a bedtime story.”

Zoe grunted.

“What d’ya want anyway, Mia?”

Mia looked uncomfortable.

“You got anything I could wear?” she asked. “I've only got this one outfit, and Eveline says I have to look nice. But not _ too  _ nice, apparently. She doesn't want Lucas thinking impure thoughts about me while Rosalie’s here….”

Zoe looked her up and down.

“I might have somethin’.......”

 

Mia looked tidy but plain in Zoe's clothes, her hair scraped primly back from her face, blouse buttoned up to her neck.

“Will I pass muster?” she asked.

“Yep. You look like a school teacher. Not the slutty kind that fucks her students, though. The kind who lives with her cat and gives out M&Ms for good work.”

“Thanks…..I think.”

“What about me?”

Zoe had only found one dress - the one she used to wear to church years ago. It still fit, but she'd grown taller since she'd last worn in, and the hem was a lot higher than it had been in the old days.

Mia regarded her critically.

“Well, you look like a mom. But you look like the kind of mom your son's friends secretly want to fuck. And when your husband leaves you for a younger woman you'll start drinking too much and end up sleeping with the gardener.”

“That's oddly specific, Mia.”

Mia shrugged.

“I knew a woman like that. Fucked the gardener, the pool boy, and the kid who delivered her newspapers. Was in rehab last I heard.”

Zoe sighed.

“Well, the slut-mom look will have to do. We best go in.”

They dragged their feet as they walked to the house, Zoe in a turmoil over what lay ahead.

She was still traumatised over Fatima, and the thought of sweet Rosalie ending up in the same predicament made her sick to her stomach.

 

Jack met them as they entered. There had been some attempt to tidy him up, but there was a rampant craziness about him that couldn't be contained by fresh set of clothes and a trimmed beard. His eyes danced about behind the lenses of his glasses, leaping from one thing to another, unable to keep still, and his mouth twitched into something resembling a grin.

“Never thought I'd see the day when my boy finally got hitched!” he bellowed as they entered. “Guess he ain't a faggot after all!”

Lucas glowered at him, looking uncomfortable in his neatly pressed shirt, his hands plunged into the pockets of his jeans.

“Straighten up, boy! Don't slouch!” ordered Jack, cuffing him round the back of his head. “That ain't no way to greet your fiancée.”

Zoe and Mia exchanged a look. Neither of them wanted to be the one to point out that Lucas was far from being engaged to Rosalie.

Luckily, Marguerite seemed far more down to earth.

“Oh, hush up, Jack! They ain't even met, yet. Who knows what the girl's gonna think o’ him?”

She was wearing a flowery dress, the tangles combed from her hair which had been pulled back into a bun. She almost looked normal, but for the stray cockroach sitting on her shoulder like a pirate's parrot.

Jack grunted.

“Let's just hope her eyesight ain't too good, huh?” he snorted.

His wife scowled at him.

“Leave ’im be, Jack! Why ya always gotta put ‘im down? You better not come out with any o’ that horseshit when she gets here……”

Eveline appeared and everyone went silent.

The girl looked the same as always, apparently above making concessions for their visitor, but she examined everybody else with a critical eye.

Apparently satisfied, she nodded.

“You did good everybody,” she announced.

Jack and Marguerite exchanged proud glances, taking credit for everything within their walls.

“She's going to be here soon. Remember, we have to be nice when she gets here,” continued Eveline. “Daddy Jack, don't be mean to anyone, especially Lucas. And no shouting!”

Jack nodded solemnly, sketching half a salute on reflex.

“Momma Bear - make sure your babies are hidden away. Some people don't like bugs.”

Marguerite nodded, but couldn't hide her opinion of people who didn't like bugs, her lip curling in response.

“Mommy - don't talk to Lucas. Don't look at him. Don't make him look at you. Or you know what....”

Eveline pinched her own lips together with her fingers, but her warning was unnecessary - Mia had barely lifted her eyes from the floor since they'd walked in. She nodded nonetheless.

“Zoe, you keep an eye on everyone. Make sure they don't act…..weird.”

Zoe nearly smiled at that. Eveline had only the vaguest notions of the concept of weirdness. Of course she had to put Zoe in charge in this respect.

“And Lucas - “

The girl beamed up at her new favourite. Lucas straightened his spine slightly in an attempt to look alert.

“Just be yourself!”

Zoe bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing.

There was no way this could go wrong.


	17. Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosalie arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this from Lucas’s POV, just by way of a change. It seemed right under the circumstances. Apologies for any mistakes/typos/whatever, but I finished the chapter whilst drunk. Hooray!

 

> _Lucas Baker_
> 
> _Interview #3_
> 
> _August 2017_
> 
>  
> 
> _Rosalie? Why the fuck you wanna know ‘bout Rosalie?_
> 
> _She ain't got nothin’ to do with this..._
> 
> _What d’ya mean “Why did she come?”_
> 
> _She came ta see me, ya fuckin’ idiot. We knew each other from way back. She always liked me._
> 
> _An’ you can take that fuckin’ look offa yer face! She liked me, okay? Might seem hard for the likes o’ you to understand, with yer fuckin’ chiselled jaw an’ yer perfect fuckin’ nose, but she did!_
> 
> _Ain't no call fer you to be like that._
> 
> _Uh-uh, yer barkin’ up the wrong tree, buddy. Mebbe ya oughta do yer homework better ‘fore you start accusin’ people o’ shit. I never fuckin’ did anythin’ to her._
> 
> _Well, yeah, I did that...Course I did. Only fuckin’ human after all. But wasn't nothin’ she didn't want, trust me._
> 
> _I did not kill Rosalie! Stop sayin’ that goddammit! Fuckin’ warnin’ you!_
> 
> _Owwwwww! Jesus -_
> 
> _Turn that shit off!_
> 
> _Owwww! Stop!_
> 
> _What the fuck?!_
> 
> _Hell yeah, I threatened you! What the fuck do y’all expect, go around callin’ people murderers?_
> 
> _What?_
> 
> _Well, yeah, I know I did. Lots o’ them. But Rosalie weren't one o’ them. I didn't hurt one hair on her head._
> 
> _Stop it, I'll fuckin’ tell ya about it! Ain't no need for that._
> 
> _Get yer finger offa that button. I'll tell ya. I got nothin’ ta hide._
> 
>   
>    
> 

Rosalie, Rosalie, Rosalie……

He couldn't understand how those three syllables could bring him so much comfort, so much peace.

Ro-sa-leee….

It made him think of rocking: A baby in a crib; A boat on calm waters; His Grandma in her rocking chair.

It was the morning she was due to arrive, and her photo was in his hand, close to his face, his thumb clamped on the corner. He was doing some rocking of his own, moving the springs in the old couch in the rhythm of his jerking wrist.

Rosalie…..

Her picture brought back all kinds of memories - mainly of the way she'd looked at him like he was a fucking genius and a goddam hero all at once. No one had made him feel like that before or since.

He remembered that day in the swamp, before the fucking snake had bit him, how they'd shared their first and only kiss pressed up against the trunk of the cypress tree. He'd been halfway on his way to a decent boner when the snake had turned up, thwarting the makeout session before it had properly begun. It had been one of the biggest regrets of his life.

Everything about her had been soft, her lips two squishy cushions under his own, and she'd allowed him to put his hands on her waist, his fingers mere inches from her burgeoning teenage breasts. He’d never have touched them - no, not then - but he was pretty sure he'd thought about those plump, warm mounds more than once lying in his bed at 14.

She'd been on the chubby side as a 13 year old, but Lucas had liked that about her - liked how rounded it made her.  Her build didn't appear to have changed much, but if her tits back then had been fine, they were spectacular at 22. When he'd first known her he might have dreamed about them with the romantic innocence of an infatuated teenage boy, but now he just wanted to bury his face in the perfumed valley between them. Hell, maybe even lube them up and slide his dick in the crevice, get himself some tit-fucking under his belt……

His thoughts were tinged with shame. She may be all grown up, but she still looked to be the same sweet girl she'd always been, and he was aware on some level that he was tainting her precious memory with his guilty masturbation, but how could he help it? She was beautiful, glowing. She represented everything that had been good about his life up till now.

It would have been hard for him to describe to anyone how he felt under Eveline’s control. His mind was fucked up, but every now and then there'd be a little bit of normality peeking out, the same way the sun glimpses out from between the clouds when it's raining. That part of him _almost_ knew what he was in those moments. _Almost._

There would come a time, not too far away, when those tiny windows of sanity would close, but that time wasn't then, and for now he was able to look at her, and feel sensations that were his own. Get his fill of them.

Rosalie.

He was getting close, arm moving faster. He wanted to apologise to the Rosalie in the picture for using her like this, as a distraction, but he'd been having bad thoughts.

He knew on some level that his thoughts weren't right, but most of the time it didn’t matter unless Eveline wanted to use him for something. Then he could let them off the leash and run, snarling and snapping. But sometimes they bothered him. This morning had been one of those times.

 

When he'd woken he'd been snuggled up to his old stuffed alligator, his head cushioned on its musty fabric, and he'd been at peace. The day before was a blur, but a with touch of contentment accompanying the vagueness. Something had been good the day before - simple. But inevitably he had to gather his mind to order, sorting through everything.

What had happened? What was going to happen?

Rosalie. Yes. Rosalie was coming. That was good. Good in the old way. Nice good, not the good he'd come to associate with hurting people.

He was glad now that his mother had interrupted him and Mia before, though at the time it had been frustrating and humiliating, but he'd wanted to save himself for Rosalie and that bitch, that slutty bitch with her tormenting lips and clever hands had made him forget that.

He'd liked it, he couldn't deny that, but it had been her fault he'd even considered it. He wouldn't have done it if Mia hadn't made him want it with her teasing and tempting.

It made him angry. That cunt ruining him before Rosalie arrived, wrapping her tongue round his cock and pulling all that lust from him. Bad Mia. He wanted to hurt her for it, the way he'd once wanted to hurt Zoe.

He felt a stab of something in his gut at the uprising of his sister's name, something not good.

She pissed him off. Not just because she refused love Eveline, though that was a major factor, but because of the Bad Thoughts she made him think.

He didn't like them. They were unruly, and at times the sight of her brought them bobbing to the surface and he had to batter them down.

He’d wanted to fuck her once, not that long ago - not for pleasure but to hurt, though the hurting in itself would have brought pleasure. He'd wanted to cut off her clothes and hold her down, to glue razor blades to his dick so he'd cut her up inside while he fucked her, so he could wallow in the scalding heat of her blood and hear her screaming, and when the screams got too loud he would have wrapped his fingers around her pale throat and _squeezed_ as he tore her apart, just to see her eyes bulge as she struggled, and spit into her gaping mouth as she strained for air.

The memories were like pain, like a rat chewing his brain, hard to ignore. They were ugly. He didn't want them, didn't want how aroused they made him. Sometimes he had to bash his head against a wall, over and over, in an effort to dislodge them.

He was hard now, and he didn't like it. He shouldn't be hard from Zoe-thoughts.

He sat up, pushing his alligator away. The alligator was from a good time, and he didn't want it close to him when he was feeling like this.

 _Fuck her up real good,_ said the stray part of his mind, jumping on his vulnerability. _You'd like that right? Fuck yer sister an’ fuck her up, all at once….._

That part of him had been created when Eveline had wanted to breed him and his sibling. The child had been clever enough to create it, but not aware enough of human minds to understand that once born, those extra parts didn't die easy. It had lingered, like an echo, a ghost.

Lucas called him Rapey, and he was always there, just under the surface.

“No.”

Lucas spoke to Rapey in the gloom of the attic, pulling himself up onto his knees on the couch, bracing his hands along the back of it.

 _Aww, come on now. Don't be like that……_ The other Lucas chuckled. It was a dirty sound. _You'd enjoy it. You know you would. Go get her now. Kick that fuckin’ trailer door in. Would be easy….._

“Fuck off!”

Lucas eyed the rafter closest to him. It was splintered and dented from other, similar occasions, darkened by old blood.

 _I ain't goin’ nowhere,_ it hissed. _You oughta listen to me, ya fuckin’ pussy. Go get Zoe. Get Mia too. Both of ‘em need a lesson. Cunts…..show ‘em what yer made of. Show ‘em what you can do. Rip ‘em apart, an’ fuck their guts._

He showed Lucas a picture: Mia and Zoe tied helpless, cowering as he loomed over them, covered in their blood like it was body paint, his stiff dick throbbing as he tried to decide which one to use first.

Lucas shook his head, grim.

“Eveline don't need you no more, Rapey. You should go now. You're done.”

 _No I ain't,_ sneered Rapey. _I'm far from fuckin’ done. You need me, you little bitch. I'm yer best friend. I got yer back. I know what you want._

“No you don't. You know what you want. Ain't the same thing.”

Lucas cursed himself for getting caught up in an argument with Rapey. That other him was sly, as smart he was himself, and liked to get him talking, make him doubt himself, distract him from his efforts to be rid of him. He steeled himself.

 _Loser!_ Rapey snarled. _Oliver was right. Yer a loser. Fuckin’ useless….._

“Uh-uh,” said Lucas, and reared back, aiming his temple at the edge of the rafter.

_No! Don't do that!_

His other persona was panicking now, and Lucas grinned, swinging his head towards the thick plank, stars obscuring his vision as his skull smashed against it. It hurt, but in a distant kind of way, as though it were happening to someone else.

Rapey’s voice quieted a couple of decibels, but he still yammered away somewhere in Lucas’s brain, desperate to survive.

_No! No! I’ll help you! Stop it!_

Lucas swung his head again, using every bit of strength in his arms to build up extra force. His head rebounded off the rafter, blood splashing up to the ceiling in an arc, and Rapey got quieter still, his voice muffled by the buzzing in his ears.

He geared up for a third strike, but as he did so he caught sight of Rosalie’s photo, tacked overhead, her smiling face stippled with blood spots.

“Shit!”

Lucas snatched the photo down, the thumbtack flying off to fall on the dusty floor. Rapey still clamoured for attention, but Lucas had to concentrate on fixing his mess now, trying to wipe the blood from the glossy paper with the hem of his t-shirt without smearing it in.

Rosalie smiled at his efforts, approving them, and he carefully absorbed the final streak, cleaning her face.

Rapey was entirely subdued by the warm glow that infused Lucas’s chest as he looked at the photo, and a sweeter voice, bereft of any malice, drowned out that of his violent alter ego’s.

 _Don't you listen to that bad man,_ said the voice, feminine and gentle. _He don't know you. Not like I do, Lucas._

Lucas sat back on the sofa.

“You don't know me either, Rosalie,” he told her sadly.

_Maybe, but I will. I want to. Do you want that too?_

“Oh, yeah! I sure do!”

 _Good. I know you ain't like that nasty trash,_ said Head-Rosalie. _Now. Let's take care o’ that pesky hard-on, shall we?_

“Well, if that's ok…..” said Lucas doubtfully, even though he was already unbuttoning his jeans. “Ya sure ya don't mind?”

 _Of course not! Why would I mind?_ She laughed, giving him a hot sensation in the pit of his stomach. _Let's just pretend that big ole stiff dick was for me all along. Forget the other stuff….._

Obediently, Lucas sank back onto the couch, taking himself in hand.

_That's right…._

The voice was a gentle sigh.

_Just think about me, and everythin’ we're gonna do together. Mmmm. I can't wait, Lucas._

“Me neither,” he admitted.

 

Lucas came with a jolt, hot spunk splashing over his knuckles and dripping onto his belly. The Rosalie in his head was silent, and he knew she hadn't really been there - that it had been his own mind conjuring her to excuse his actions. But it had worked.

All the bad thoughts that had plagued him since he'd woken had dispersed, even Rapey buried beneath the satisfaction of a really good orgasm.

Lucas lay flat out on the couch, the springs digging into his back as his cock pulsed again, expelling more of his seed. His eyes rolled in his head as his grip tightened on the photo in his hand, crumpling it, but it didn't matter now. He could take more if it all went well. Could fill his phone with them.

Lucas put the picture aside and set to work cleaning himself up, stripping off his t-shirt and using it to mop his belly.

The black shirt and clean jeans he was supposed to wear today were hung up by his laptop, and he heaved himself off the couch to go fetch them.

His phone lay on the desk, and he dragged his thumb across the screen as he took off his pants. The circle of Facebook Messenger was up, Rosalie’s face with a number 1 next to it, and he tapped it.

 

_On my way now, Lucas! Im so excited!!!!! Be seeing you real soon xxxxxxxx_

 

He grinned, pulling his other jeans on and fastening them. He wiped a smear of jizz from his thumb on the discarded t-shirt and replied.

 

_Can't wait Rosalie. This is gonna be great xxxx_

 

He shrugged on the black shirt, grimacing at the feel of the cloth against his skin. He'd only worn it once before, and it still had the stiff texture of newness about it. He hated breaking new clothes in.

He buttoned it one-handed, absently, as he treated himself to brief glimpse of the other photo Rosalie had sent him - the one he'd begged her for. He rarely looked at it, not wanting familiarity to rob it of its power, and he felt liked he'd been punched in the guts every time he pulled it up on the screen.

It was a mirror selfie, taken just for him she'd assured him. It depicted her naked from the waist up, a faint blush of self-consciousness colouring her cheeks. She had her free arm clasped over her chest, covering her nipples, squashing the expanse of her breasts against her, but the sight of the generous arcs of flesh bulging against her ribs beneath the censuring arm still made Lucas feel weak.

Her hair fell down in front of one shoulder, the golden curls nearly obscuring her spread hand, and Lucas had zoomed in on the photo on more than one occasion trying to tell if it was really a glimpse of pink nipple he could spy peeking between her fingers.

He stared at the picture for a long time, absorbing as much as he could of her smooth, creamy flesh, the jut of one hip, even the lace of her bra slung over the doorknob in the background, before finally finishing the job of doing up his shirt and putting his phone away.

His dick was threatening to get stiff again, nuzzling against the edge of the phone in his pocket, but he did his best to ignore it.

He'd be seeing her in real life soon enough.

 

“There y’are, boy. Bout time you got yer lazy ass up.”

Lucas glowered at his father.

The old man was all gussied up, tie and all, and Lucas wanted nothing more than to launch himself at the truculent bastard. Maybe bite him up good. See if he could tear his throat out with his teeth.

He gritted them together at the thought, grinding the enamel. It would be good to do that. Let the blood jet up, all warm and tasty, into his face.

Lucas had biting thoughts a lot. He’d always enjoyed the sensation of meat clamped between his teeth, but it was only in recent months that the idea of it being human meat had begun to obsess him. Maybe he had another persona, to go along with Rapey. He'd call this one Bitey.

Was getting a regular community in his head thanks to Eveline. She was his Snow White, stocking him up with an army of violent dwarves.

“Ya best go wake yer sister,” continued Jack. “Make sure she looks respectable. Don't want her lettin’ the side down.”

“Why have I got to do it?” complained Lucas.

“Cuz I said so!” bellowed his father. “Ain't no better reason!”

Muttering, Lucas slammed the back door open and slouched across the yard. Zoe's trailer was quiet, and the fact that she got to sleep undisturbed pissed him off. Zoe hardly ever did any chores. Fuckin’ bitch.

He could have knocked, but his foul mood dictated that he kick it open, and as the flimsy lock gave way against the pressure of his foot he felt a brief burst of pleasure. Destruction felt good.

Zoe lay in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, bleary eyes trying to focus on him.

Rapey was back in an instant, as though he'd never been away, urging Lucas to leap on the bed, tear those covers away.

Lucas had no wall sturdy enough to pound those thoughts out, but he didn't need one. He'd cum already once today, and the comforting weight of his phone in his pocket right next to his cock, its pretty picture of Rosalie safe in its memory, was sufficient to drown that rapey asshole out.

“Goddam it, Lucas! I just fixed that!” Zoe groaned.

She rubbed her eyes as she peered up at him, one scrawny arm appearing from under the blanket.

“Don't care. Time to get up, shithead.”

He had no time for this bullshit. All he had to do was deliver his message and he was done. Keep it short and sweet, my man.

“For fuck’s sake, Lucas. Look at you! You get dressed in the dark?”

Lucas looked down at himself. In his distracted state, he had fastened it wrong, like a little kid's attempt to dress himself.

“How in the fuck did that happen?” he grumbled, unbuttoning it.

“Get outta my trailer, asshole,” said Zoe, throwing a pillow at him. “Unless you need help dressin’ yerself…..”

He batted the pillow away, wondering how she'd like it if he snatched it up and held it over her face, pushing it down until her struggles stopped. Goddam Zoe.

He turned and left, swinging the broken door shut behind him with a certain amount of satisfaction as he noted the splintered door frame.

“Dress nice!” he bawled as an afterthought as he returned to the house.

 

Lucas felt nervous, his palms sweaty as he waited with the others for Rosalie to arrive.

He thrust his hands into his pockets, surreptitiously drying them against his thighs.

Momma looked nice. Apart from that fuckin’ roach. He'd love to squash Momma’s bugs underfoot, jump on them and hear the crunch and squelch as he destroyed the interlopers. Wriggly little shits, stealing his mother's love……

He became distracted by the arrival of Mia and Zoe, Mia looking frumpy in Zoe's clothes, Zoe looking slutty in a too-short dress. Mia wouldn't meet his eye, and he was glad. She must have known how pissed he was at her.

He felt Eveline’s arrival before he saw her, as he always did - a sensation of being filled with purpose, of devotion, that blotted everything else out. Everything faded into the background when Eveline was there. It was weird, how she affected him. The child was always there in the back of his mind, even when her physical presence was somewhere else, like a nagging feeling that he'd forgotten something. He was never quite free of her, but that was how it should be.

She smiled at him, apparently approving of his appearance. Whenever Eveline showed him that she was pleased with him, Lucas felt like he could burst with pride. He imagined it was how a dog would feel when called a Good Boy by its master.

Part of him - the part that was still him - resented his dependency on her, but whenever he felt like that he reminded himself of the debt he owed her, the gratitude she deserved for making him who he had become. A God.

 

He didn't feel much like a God when Rosalie arrived.

He felt like a little kid waiting to meet Santa, almost ready to pee his pants with excitement. That had happened once, he was pretty sure.

Her little bitty car drew up outside, candy-apple red, and Lucas found himself backing away even as he told himself to go forward. He wasn't ready. He'd never be ready.

Eveline noticed his dilemma, and smiled at him in a comforting manner.

“Don't be scared, Lucas. I'll talk to her first, and if I like her, you can have her.”

Lucas nodded. He would have nodded whatever she said, but this was good. It gave him permission to hang back, wait in the wings.

Rosalie got out of her car. She wore a white dress covered in red dots like little droplets of blood, its full skirt swinging against her thighs.

Lucas hadn't realised how dull and grey the place had become till Rosalie walked in there.

She was a splash of colour in the gloom, her golden hair glancing rays of light in all directions. It swung and bobbed like the skirt of her dress, bouncing all around her.

There was so much life in her. She made Lucas’s brain itch, made his skin go tingly.

She made his dick hard too, in a split second, as unromantic as that may be. He may have been Eveline’s puppet, but he was a man, too. He had eyes, and they were fixing to pop out of his skull at the sight of her.

His first thought was that she hadn't changed, but he knocked that thought on the head straight away. It was bullshit. She'd changed, alright - she'd become a _woman_ , and a fine fucking specimen of one at that. It was what was around her that hadn't changed. Her….spirit? Soul? Fucking _aura?_ He didn't know the word.

She looked soft. _Squishy._ No hard edges - not like him.

He was all hard edges these days: His mind a bear trap, blued steel and sharp teeth, ready to snap shut; His body a restless engine, pulsing with violence, wanting to explode.

But not at her. The thrumming anger in his muscles subsided when he saw her, relaxed, the whining of the buzzsaw that was his thoughts quieting, like she'd turned off the switch.

Rosalie, Rosalie, Rosalie…..

He watched his family swarm towards her, his father scooping her soft little hand into his in greeting, looming over her. He looked like Daddy Bear leaning over Goldilocks.

Seeing Jack touching her ruined everything, tore Lucas’s newfound serenity to pieces. It made his temples pulse, red light forming a mist over his eyes. He felt his teeth clenching until his jaw throbbed, his new dwarf Bitey eager to come out and play. Bitey had no language. He wasn't clever and manipulative like Rapey. He was just primal urge and hunger all wrapped up in Lucas’s head, his desire signalled by his slavering and the champing of mental teeth.

Jack said something, turning on his charm, the low rumble of his voice lost to Lucas amidst the snarling of Bitey as he held him back. Whatever he said, it made Rosalie giggle, and Lucas couldn't bear it.

 _Got his hands all over yer girl,_ remarked a new voice in his head, one that Lucas immediately dubbed Snarky from his tone. It sounded a little like his father, with undertones of Aunt Sylvia.

Was getting crowded up there.

_Betcha he's gettin’ a pretty good look down the front o’ her dress, too….._

_He's lookin’ at her titties!_ put in Rapey, his voice a gleeful whisper.

Lucas made a noise in his throat, and Eveline shot him a warning look. The voices in his head shut up immediately, scared into silence, giving him blessed relief. Good old Eveline. She ruled them as surely as she ruled him.

Marguerite was next to greet their guest, her voice that old melodious lilt she had when she was in a good mood. She claimed Rosalie for a hug, prying her from her husband's grip, warm and motherly and welcoming.

“Lookit you, all grown up, cher!” she gushed. “So pretty!”

“Thank you, Mrs Baker. It's good to see you after so long,” replied Rosalie, accepting the embrace with no awkwardness.

Rapey let out a muffled groan at the sound of her voice. It was a little lower than when she'd been a girl, a husky note tacked on around the edges, but it was still high and pleasant like Lucas remembered.

Marguerite looked as though she were about to burst with delight, and Lucas knew she was restraining herself from pinching the younger woman's cheeks like the witch in the gingerbread house, testing to see if her prisoner had fattened up enough. The thought gave Lucas a weird twinge, the idea of Rosalie ending up in one of Momma’s casseroles at once repulsive yet strangely erotic too. Bitey evidently approved, growling hungrily somewhere from the back.

Released from Marguerite’s clutches, Rosalie turned to Zoe, regarding her with careful warmth.

“Zoe. It's great to see you too…..”

She held out her arms for a hug, and the two women did the prim cheek-kiss thing that Lucas normally found ridiculous, but under the circumstances it raised a wry grin. He'd almost forgotten the fail-safe device he'd installed in Rosalie and Zoe's relationship, just in case Zoe tried to warn her off, but it was clear Rosalie was attempting to be friendly without inadvertently arousing his sister's desire for her. Zoe looked hella awkward, so he had to assume she was aware of the deceit, which only showed he'd been justified in taking precautions.

 _Tough luck, Zoe,_ sniggered Snarky.

“You look amazing, Rosalie,” said Zoe. “It's great to have you here.”

“Why, thank you, Zoe. I'm happy to be here.”

Ever polite, Rosalie turned her attention to the silent Mia, who had barely lifted her gaze from the boards.

“And this is…..?”

Nobody answered, Jack and Marguerite exchanging worried glances. Nobody had thought to prepare a backstory to explain the woman's presence.

Help came from an unexpected quarter, Zoe stepping in to save the day.

“This here's Mia. She's, uh, she's ma new girlfriend….”

Mia looked up in shock, but quickly turned the expression into a smile.

“Hi, Rosalie. I heard so much about you,” she said, extending her hand formally.

Rosalie was smiling, looking from Mia to Zoe as if pleased.

“Girlfriend? Oh, wow - that's great! I'm so happy for the pair o’ you!”

She ignored the outstretched hand and went in for the hug. Seeing the two women so close together, the vivacious curves of Rosalie squashed up against Mia's pallid angles made Lucas wonder what he'd ever seen in the older woman.

 _Puusssssyyyyy……_ hissed Rapey, with a lewd little snigger, and Lucas supposed he was right.

Everyone went quiet as Eveline, who'd patiently waited her turn, stepped forward.

“Hi, Rosalie! You don't know me. I'm Eveline. I'm Lucas’s sister!”

“His sister? Oh my goodness! I never knew he had another sister now…..”

She beamed at Eveline, glancing toward Marguerite and Jack with faint surprise.

“Oh, yes, cher,” simpered Marguerite. “That time you was here, I was expectin’ this lil angel an’ I didn't even know it!”

Rosalie laughed.

“Well, blow me down! Whoever would o’ thought it? What a lovely surprise, though. I can see the resemblance, now. Such a pretty little girl!”

Rosalie swept in to hug the child, not flinching, and Eveline accepted the affection as if it were exactly what she expected and deserved. She smiled, and with that everyone let out an almost inaudible noise of relief.

Eveline turned to the others.

“I like her! She's nice!”

Lucas thought his chest would burst. Eveline liked her. That meant he would be allowed to keep her. Dizzy with a mixture of happiness and lust, he clutched the pillar next to him for support, ducking behind it slightly as he attempted to get his emotions in order.

Rosalie had been gracious, like the well brought up girl she was, but her eyes betrayed her eagerness to see the man she'd come here for. She glanced around the little group, her lips parting even as her eyebrows dipped in a gentle frown.

“Uh…….”

Taking her role as head of the family very seriously, Eveline took Rosalie’s hand.

“I expect you want to see Lucas, don't you?” she said.

Rosalie laughed.

“Well, yes. I sure do!”

“He's over here…..”

The family parted to make way for the child leading the woman by the hand, a hush descending over the room. They all blurred in Lucas’s vision, none of them important but for his little matchmaker and the girl of his wet dreams.

There was a dry click in his throat as he tried to swallow. He was lost for words, and scared to speak anyway lest Rapey or Snarky did it for him, or even Bitey. The three of them jostled in his head, Snarky unable to find fault with her, the other two loudly appreciative in their own ways.

Lucas looked at the tender line of her throat, her quickened pulse clearly visible against the smooth skin. She would gush like a fountain if he bit her there, he thought dreamily, much to Bitey’s approval.

He shook that thought away, aiming a kick at Bitey that sent him off yelping, and focussed on her eyes. They were green - a colour he had always loved. Clear and wide and innocent, crinkled at the corners by her smile.

Rapey was in paroxysms of excitement already, wanting to fuck her eye sockets, and he hadn't even looked further down yet.

Rosalie’s grin was impish, full of mischief, the dimple in her cheeks pronounced.

“Hey there, Lucas,” she said, and hearing her voice utter his name after all this time completed his devastation.

 _You'll never be good enough for her,_ muttered Snarky.

He was probably right. But Lucas didn't care.

“Hey Rosalie.”

 

The others had gone - Lucas didn't know where, nor did he care. They were alone, he and Rosalie.

Rosalie, Rosalie, Rosalie…..

He'd been worried she'd be disappointed, finally seeing him in the flesh, but from the look on her face she didn't seem to be. How in the hell was that possible?

She smiled at him, full force, her gaze travelling over his features with satisfaction, the curve of her mouth growing wider with each second.

“Well now, Lucas. After all this time…...Sure is good to meet you again!”

She moved forward, putting her hands on his shoulders, raising herself on her toes to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek. She smelled like honeysuckle and sunlight, strands of her hair floating against his skin, her lips soft and damp.

Lucas stood with his hands at his sides, not daring to touch her. His alters were scuffling, each of them eager to push to the front.

Rosalie pulled away. The glow of her smile faded a few degrees.

“What's wrong? You disappointed…..?”

Lucas shook his head, kicking himself for putting that doubt in her mind.

“No! God, no. Shit….I'm sorry, Rosalie. I just can't believe yer finally here!”

He attempted a grin, but it felt lopsided on his face.

“It's ok, Lucas,” she said generously. “It's kinda strange ain't it?”

He could only nod in agreement. Rosalie smirked, that harmless mischief he remembered back again.

“So now that I'm here, what on earth are ya gonna do with me, huh?”

“I, uh…..I got a couple o’ ideas……” he admitted.

She giggled.

“I can't wait to find out what they are…..” she said. “Tell ya what, why don't we go for a little walk an’ you can tell me all about them?”

“Sure! Where do ya wanna go?”

“Hmmm…..”

She bit her bottom lip thoughtfully, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh.

“I think I'd like to go into the swamp. You know. For old time's sake?”

Lucas raised his eyebrows.

“You sure about that?” he asked, surprised.  “I mean, after last time……”

“Last time, you showed me I didn't have a thing to worry about, long as you were with me.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes up.

“Such a hero….”

Lucas tried another grin, this one genuine, full of puffed up pride. Rosalie dropped him a wink.

“Besides,” she told him, leaning in closer. “There's only one snake I'm concerned with right now, an’ that one don't scare me a bit……”

Her hand brushed against the front of his jeans in a way that Lucas didn't think was accidental, skidding briefly over the semi he'd been sporting since that morning.

“Shit, Rosalie…..You don't waste no time, do ya?” he marvelled.

She blushed, her cheeks pinking up prettily.

“Seems silly to be coy,” she confessed. “Y’know, after all the stuff we talked about online. An’ I been so excited, I can hardly wait now I'm here. Ya don't think I'm bein’ too forward, do ya?”

She looked anxious, and Lucas would have done anything to remove that worry from her.

“Rosalie, I don't reckon I could think anythin’ bad ‘bout you at all,” he lied as his horny dwarves rampaged inside his head.

She sighed again, the warm gust of her breath reaching across the gap between them.

“Well, good. I ain't a slut, ya know…..”

“I know that,” he assured her. “C’mon, let's go.”

 

Lucas couldn't quite believe he wasn't dreaming as they crossed the yard, headed towards the swamp - even more so when she slipped her hand into his. The bones in her fingers felt tiny and fragile, and he had to remind himself not to squeeze too hard in case he reduced them to powder.

The day was warm and not too muggy, so they took their time, taking a shortcut through the bushes that divided the guest house from the rest of the buildings. The family hadn't bothered much with its upkeep since they'd stopped taking guests - especially now it was used for more nefarious purposes. The grass had grown unchecked, reaching their knees as they wandered through it.

Rosalie evinced some excitement as she recognised the place.

“Oh, wow! I remember that bench,” she said, pointing to the swing suspended on its rusty chains. “I was sat on that first time I saw you! And you were over there….watchin’ me….”

She pointed to the bushes where Lucas had skulked all those years ago.

Lucas snorted.

“I remember. Was lurkin’ there, tryna work up the courage to say ‘Hi’.”

“You were so sweet,” she mused.

“I was scared to shit.”

She squeezed his hand briefly.

“What's it like inside now?” she asked. “Can we go in?”

Lucas thought about the cells in the basement.

“Uh, no. Better we don't. Ain't sure it's safe.”

They wandered over to the gap in the bushes that led to the path they'd traversed nearly 10 years previously. Lucas’s nervousness had abated somewhat, to be replaced by a dark sort of excitement. He didn't know what would happen once they were hidden away in the bayou, but he could only hope his more unpleasant nature would behave itself. He honestly didn't want to hurt this sweet woman, but he could never be completely sure what he would do, and even if he was able control his baser instincts, trying to keep them under wraps might prove difficult and embarrassing. He had images of bashing his head against the trunk of a tree before her eyes, trying to subdue Rapey while she looked on in horror.

He held the branches aside for her, letting her go first. It was darker in the swamp, much of the sunlight blotted out by the trees, and the hazy gloom seemed to close around them intimately.

“It was this way, wasn't it?” asked Rosalie, peering along the path.

“Uh-huh.”

The path hadn't been used in a while, and the undergrowth closed in on either side, forcing them to walk single file. Lucas ambled along behind her, free now to study her as much as he wished.

Her skirt swung from side to side as she walked, skimming against the smooth curves of her rounded thighs. She was wearing kitten heels, making her gait slightly uneven as they repeatedly sank into the soft ground.

“Think I should take these off…..” she muttered, easing her feet from them and bending to pick them up.

Lucas felt his lips pull back from his teeth as she stooped, the hem of her dress lifting, exposing more of her legs. Her ass pushed up against the fabric, the line of her panties visible for an instant, angled up the cheeky mounds of her buttocks. Lucas wanted to reach out and grab a couple of handfuls of the humped flesh offered up to him so casually, and quickly pushed his hands into his pockets.

She straightened, unaware of his turmoil - or so he thought, right up until she twisted from the waist to favour him with an impudent wink over her shoulder.

“Much better!” she announced as she continued.

Lucas followed her as if an invisible thread connected them from his cock to her ass.

She carried her shoes in her left hand, small, pale feet picking their way over the moist earth with care. Her toenails were painted red, and even this tiny detail made Lucas’s restless hard-on twitch. There was so much going on in his head that it felt crowded, his unwelcome companions bubbling with excitement.

 _She ain't gonna let you do anythin’ ….._ said Snarky, but he sounded doubtful, all the evidence so far to the contrary.

 _She don't have to,_ sniggered Rapey. _Once we're outta earshot, he can do anythin’ he likes! Ain't that grand?_

Bitey’s only response was a throaty snarl, and the sound of teeth clicking together.

The path opened up onto the familiar clearing, dappled water off to one side. Rosalie examined their surroundings critically.

“This has to be it. Is it?” she asked, turning to him.

Lucas nodded.

“I knew it!”

She was triumphant, dropping her shoes without ceremony, studying the trees.

“I remember,” she said, almost to herself. “Was this one right here….”

She touched the bark, her smooth hand a perfect contrast to the roughness.

Rosalie turned, placing her back on the broad trunk. The pose pushed her chest out, and for the first time Lucas allowed himself to look at her properly. He hadn't dared before, not in the house, but out here in the placid stillness it seemed natural - expected.

Her dress had a sweetheart neckline, the cloth arching over the swells of her generous cleavage in a deliberate display. The valley between her breasts was dark and inviting.

“I was here. You recall that?”

He nodded.

“An’ you….you were right in front o’ me….”

She held her hands out to him and he took them, allowing her to pull him closer until their bodies met.

“An’ you had your hands….here.”

She placed them on her waist, his fingers across her back, his thumbs pushed up to her ribs, their tips nearly brushing the undersides of her breasts.

Her eyes were fixed on his, holding him in place as she lifted one hand and touched her knuckles to the trunk next to her head.

“The snake was right there. Right by my head. Remember? An’ I screamed when I saw it, but you just grabbed it straight away, without even thinkin’, to save me. Even though it bit you. Even though it could o’ killed you……”

Her breathing was heavy, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She ran the tip of her tongue across her upper lip.

“Lucas, if you don't kiss me now like you did back then, I think I'm gonna explode…..”

Lucas tried - he honestly did - to kiss her like he had back then: soft and respectful and tentative. And it started out that way, but the second he got a taste of her - a tang like strawberries against his tongue - those good intentions fell away. He pushed her back against the tree trunk with more force than he'd intended, hearing her squeak in surprise as his hips connected with hers, grinding his greedy cock into the softness of her belly.

Bitey took over, closing his teeth over her bottom lip, and Lucas fought to regain control, straining his jaws open just before he could break the skin. He huffed hot breath into her throat.

With a concerted effort, Lucas managed to pull his mouth off hers, his head swimming, but Bitey caught sight of her pale neck and darted in to snatch up a mouthful. The vein under his tongue beat a quivering pulse and he had to concentrate hard to resist the desire to tear the flesh away. He sucked on it instead, licking the throbbing blood through her skin.

“Oh!”

Her voice was a high pitched squeal near his ear. He wound his arm round her waist so she couldn't escape, his eyes closing in ecstasy as he half-bit, half-sucked his way down her neck, leaving rosy patches in his wake.

He could feel her heart. It rattled away somewhere beneath her breasts, and Lucas plunged his face between them, growling. It would take some effort to burrow his way through all that flesh to be able to crack her ribs, but he thought he'd could manage. He wanted to feel the hard muscle of that fluttering organ beat right against his lips, her blood slithering into his mouth.

Lucas groaned. He didn't want to hurt her, he really didn't, but she was so frail, so vulnerable. So _his._ He put his tongue out and licked the secret skin between her tits, clamping the fingers of his free hand into the generous meat of her ass.

“Lucas…..”

Her voice quavered above his head, but he ignored it, opening his mouth against the side of her breast, bruising it with his teeth.

“Lucas!”

He felt her fingers in the short bristles of his hair, tugging his head up, forcing him to acknowledge her. Rosalie’s eyes were wide and shocked, her lips swollen by his roughness.

He stared at her in horror, the reality of his actions sinking in at the sight of her. It mortified him.

“Aww….shit! Rosalie….I'm so sorry…..fuck!”

“Gawd, don't be sorry, Lucas!” she exclaimed. “How did ya know?”

“How did I know what?” he asked confused.

Her hands left his head to disappear behind her, her chest thrust forward, and he realised she was struggling with the zip of her dress.

“How did ya know that's how I like it….?” she moaned, yanking the tab of the zip down. “Felt like you were gonna eat me alive…..”

“An’ that's okay?” he asked uncertainly.

“Ohhhhh, yeah…..”

Impatient, Rosalie tugged her dress from her shoulders, pulling it down to her waist. Her tits bulged from the confines of her lacey bra, nipples peeking through the sheer fabric. With a grunt, she unhooked it, elbows sticking out either side.

“Pesky thing,” she muttered, grabbing the bra between the cups and pulling it free, tossing it to one side.

Lucas was dumbstruck by her casual nudity. Was this the same woman who had blushed as she covered her tits in the mirror selfie he so treasured on his phone?

She wriggled her shoulders happily against the coarse bark of the tree trunk, holding her arms out to him.

“C’mon, you animal. Keep doin’ what you was doin’...I got some rules, though: No bruisin’ me where people can see it, an’ try not to break the skin, okay? I'll let ya know if ya get too rough.”

“You sure about this?”

Lucas could scarcely believe his luck.

Rosalie nodded, her smile all the confirmation he needed.

“I want you to _devour_ me…..”

Lucas needed no further encouragement, Rapey doing a happy dance in his head.

_You heard the girl! Fuckin’ go fer it!_

His teeth latched onto the springy flesh of her shoulder, marvelling at its resilience. Allowed some freedom, Bitey was easier to control, blissfully content with denting the delicate skin. Rosalie shuddered in response, locking her arms around his neck.

“That's right, you big, bad wolf, you,” she murmured.

She gasped as he bit her again, further down under the tempting arc of her collarbone, her body jerking in response. He thought he might have done it too hard, but her hand caressed the back of his head, reassuring him.

He began to carve himself a path around her chest, using the outlines of her bones for guidance, careful not to mark her up too badly. She moved restlessly against him, fingernails digging into the back of his neck.

“That's perfect…..” she whispered, quivering, every clench of his teeth drawing an excited little breath from her. “Always…. wanted Bryce... to do this…... but he wouldn't...”

Lucas planted a chain of careful bites down between her breasts, on his way down to the squishy softness of her belly. Rapey was impatient, wanting to tear a hole to fuck, but Lucas found it easier to ignore him with the delightful expanse of Rosalie laid out before him. He dipped his tongue into the dimple of her navel before biting next to it. He was able to go harder here, the flesh so plentiful, sucking hard, bruises blossoming under his mouth.

Lucas sank down onto his knees, pushing up the billows of her skirts and ducking his head under, marking her thighs, signing his name with his teeth in a bestial braille.

Rosalie braced her feet apart, spreading her legs for him. He could smell the sharp musk of her excitement soaking the crotch of her panties, and he buried his face there, tongue pushing into the damp crease. The lace was scratchy against his skin, and he hooked his fingers into the waistband.

“Rip ’em off!” urged Rosalie. “Just….tear ‘em off, Lucas!”

Ever obedient, he did as he was told, shredding the lace on one hip with his fingertips, using his teeth at the other side, reducing the flimsy garment to tatters. Rosalie’s hands pressed onto the top of his head, her knees trembling.

The first sweep of his tongue produced a high pitched whimper from her, and Lucas sank in deeper, sliding in her juices, sucking her clit between his teeth. He didn't dare bite here, the slick area far too delicate, but her hands pushed his head more firmly against her.

“Do it…..”

Her voice was tiny, possibly a little scared, but shaky with desire, and Lucas couldn't bear to disappoint her. He was careful as he closed his teeth on the puffy flesh between her legs, squeezing gently at her lips, getting her ready. His teeth barely grazed her, her scent filling his head, and unable to resist any longer he spread his jaws wide, clamping against her pussy.

Her hips jerked, a small scream echoing through the swamp, and suddenly his mouth was flooded. He'd seen enough online porn to know that squirting was a thing, but his brief sessions with Mia hadn't produced these results. It dribbled down his chin, a stream of it trickling down into his shirt and he swallowed it as her spasms diminished.

“Holy, shit, Lucas…..”

Her voice was jagged and weak, and he felt her sag under the weight of her orgasm. Using her thighs to pull himself up, he stood. Her cheeks were a deep pink colour, her eyelids fluttering, but despite her apparent daze, she was grinning. He'd intended to ask if it had been okay, but her expression told him everything he wanted to know.

She grabbed him in a fierce embrace, unheeding of the mess around his mouth as she kissed him. His dick had been patient up till now, but he couldn't hold off any longer.

Grabbing himself a generous handful of tit he used his free hand to release his cock with a couple of impatient jerks, bending at the knee to angle the swollen organ up into the moist chasm of her cunt. His first thrust lifted her off her feet, and she yelped into his mouth, clawing at his back.

He ground into her, feeling the tree behind her lean under the onslaught. She started to slide downwards, so he relinquished his hold on her breast with reluctance, clamping his hands behind her thighs and lifting her bodily.

She tore her mouth loose at his next thrust.

“Oh my goodness!” she squawked, her eyes wide with surprise and delight.

Lucas tried to reply, but as her pussy enveloped him again his response turned into a wordless gurgle. The tree creaked in complaint, dropping shreds of Spanish moss onto them. He didn't care. Somewhere, deep in the fucked up recesses of his mind, Rapey was shouting instructions, but he ignored that asshat. He was doing fine on his own.

Fucking Rosalie was completely different from fucking Mia, he realised. Mia had never been this excitable. She hadn't twitched on his cock like every stroke electrified her, nor clutched onto him as if she were drowning and he was her only hope of rescue. She'd never squirted in his face. She'd never made him feel like he was King Stud of Fuck Mountain.

He pounded Rosalie as though his life depended on it, boring deep to mine the gold of her pussy. She screamed as she came again, shouting his name into the bayou, and as her muscles clamped around his cock his knees gave way and they collapsed onto the spongy ground.

 

Rosalie’s back had been scraped raw by the tree bark, and as he helped her rearrange her clothes Lucas felt ashamed of what he'd done to her. He'd tried to be careful, but the livid spots that formed a chain across her chest was a visible reminder that he hadn't been careful enough.

“I'm so fuckin’ sorry, Rosalie,” he mourned. “I should o’ - “

“Stop that right now, Lucas Baker,” snapped Rosalie, stern now, her forehead creased with disapproval. “You didn't do nothin’ I didn't want. You think I would o’ let you do all that if I'd hated it? You think I don't know what I like?”

Dumbfounded, he had no reply.

She softened at his dismay, kissing the stubble along his jaw, taking his hand.

“Lucas, I'm a grown woman. I'm capable o’ decidin’ if I wanna be bit, how I wanna be fucked. Bryce always told me I was a freak - said I was messed up in the head. Tried to make me feel ashamed. I am sick an’ tired o’ people tryna tell me how I oughta be. You didn't do that. You just did what felt good for both o’ us. An’ I loved it. So hush yer mouth.”

Lucas shuffled his feet. She didn't know. She didn't know what had really happened - didn't know how hard he'd had to work not to rip her apart and writhe naked in her blood. If she hadn't liked it, he would probably still have done it anyway.

 _But she did like it,_ pointed out Rapey, helpful for once. _Bitch fuckin’ loved it! An’ if she don't know the truth now, well...she will soon enough, right?_

“Right,” Lucas agreed, and Rosalie smiled, thinking he was talking to her.

“C’mon honey,” she said. “We best get back to the house, ‘fore they send out a search party for us.”

They left the ragged scrap that had had once been her panties lying there, unimportant now, and as they made their way back along the path there was a thunderous crash behind them, shaking the ground beneath their feet. They turned, shocked at the sight of the uprooted tree, the sounds of the bayou stunned into silence by the noise.

“Would ya look at that, Lucas?” marvelled Rosalie. “We done fucked the tree over!”

 

 

 


	18. Infatuation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosalie and Lucas are getting along very well, but there are problems arising already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me far too long to write and I almost gave up, but had a brief burst of inspiration that should carry me through to the next chapter.

Zoe had been more worried about Rosalie’s fate at her brother's hands than she'd cared to admit, but seeing them wandering, hand in hand, across the yard back toward the house set her mind at ease.

In her new role as girlfriend, it had been decided that Mia would bunk up in Zoe's trailer for the duration of Rosalie’s visit - however long that would be - and as Zoe made up an extra bed for her pretend partner it had almost felt like she was preparing for a sleepover with a friend.

Zoe hadn't had a proper friend for a good while, and it was embarrassing how excited she'd been making space for someone else in her quarters.

She and Mia had kept watch out of her window as Lucas and Rosalie had disappeared into the overgrown bushes surrounding the house, both of them on edge till they returned.

Zoe breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Rosalie in one piece, even though she knew things could still go very wrong.

“Well, he ain't killed her yet,” she announced, watching as the unlikely pair walked past. 

Mia joined her at the window. She appeared more relaxed in Zoe’s domain, away from the pressures of the Baker household.

“He hasn't killed her, but he's done something to her,” she observed. “Look at them - like cats that got the cream.”

“You think they fucked?” asked Zoe, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

Lucas was only partially human now, she reasoned, and she didn't want to think what her brother might have subjected that sweet girl to.

“Oh, definitely!” decided Mia. “Don't quote me, but that woman is walking like someone who isn't wearing panties.”

Zoe frowned at her.

“How in the hell can you tell that?” she demanded.

Mia shrugged.

“Can't say for sure,” she admitted. “Call it an educated guess.”

Zoe observed them carefully, bearing Mia’s judgement in mind.

Rosalie’s hips swung under her dress, a spring in her step that hadn't been present before as she clutched Lucas’s hand. Lucas himself looked more relaxed than he had in months, strolling along with a dopey smile plastered across his face.

“You're right,” she said. “They Did It. And good, by the looks of them. Ew.”

She flopped back onto her bed.

“I don't understand it,” she said. “That girl is a knock out. She could pretty much take her pick o’ guys, yet here she is at Chez Fuckedup, doin’ the nasty with my equally nasty brother…...Why the fuck ya think she'd do that?”

Mia shrugged, but she looked faintly embarrassed.

“You know, Zoe, you're entitled to think your brother is nasty, cuz he's your brother. But if I'm being honest …..”

She trailed off, apparently unwilling to continue.

Zoe nudged at Mia's elbow with her foot.

“Be honest!” she chided. “Ya can't start a sentence like that an’ not fuckin’ elaborate!”

Mia sighed as she slumped onto the bed next to Zoe. The more they talked, the more Zoe felt they really were at a sleepover. They were already talking about boys. How long before they started to give each other makeovers? 

Mia fiddled with the edge of Zoe's blanket,

“Lucas….isn't as awful as you think.”

She looked embarrassed by the admission, but Zoe wasn't about to let her off. Was Mia  _ blushing _ ?

“Go on…” she said with a hint of cruelty.

Mia grabbed a pillow and hugged it.

“Lucas is….well….he's like the weird guy at a club who didn't leave the corner all evening, and at the end of the night you end up going home with him because all your friends all paired up and there's nobody else left.”

She looked at Zoe awkwardly.

“Maybe you just can't stand the thought of being alone, or maybe you're just drunk enough to find him attractive, but it turns out he's a real freak between the sheets and you enjoy it more than you thought you would. Of course, by the time morning comes, you're absolutely mortified because you Did It with That Guy but even in the cold light of day and all sobered up you end up doing it again because he doesn't give a shit about your morning breath or the fact you haven't shaved or if you're on your period. Hell, he'll even go down on you when you're full of spunk and blood.”

She sighed, her cheeks going even pinker.

“Lucas is That Guy. That's all I'm saying.”

Zoe considered it. She had to admit there had been a couple of occasions she'd ended up with That Guy, although she was ashamed that she could think about people on those terms. She'd fucked a That Guy in a parking lot behind a dumpster once, both of them so drunk they could barely stand and he hadn't been able to get it up, but he'd made up for it by finger-banging her so good she'd nearly passed out in a heap of empty pizza boxes. He'd also put a finger in her ass just as she was cumming and though she'd been furious about that, she had to admit it had been just what she'd needed, even if she hadn't realised till he'd done it.

She'd seen him again the following week while sober, but she'd been with her friend Chelsea and was so ashamed by her involvement with him she'd cut him dead in the street. She remembered the look on his face: Sad, but accepting. He was used to it.

People were shits. She included herself in that judgement.

“I get it,” she sighed. “Just don't like it. In fact, I don't like Rosalie bein’ here at all. What did you think of her?”

“She's a sweetheart all right,” said Mia. “We're going to have to get her out of here somehow…..”

  
  


Back in the house, Jack was lying in wait, pouncing on Rosalie and Lucas the second they walked through the door. He had a lecherous grin stretched across his face that even Lucas felt was unsuitable.

“Well now, you two lovebirds…..Did y’all have a nice walk?”

“Oh yes, Mr Baker. It was very pleasant,” replied Rosalie innocently.

She'd pulled her hair around her neck and chest to cover the fading marks Lucas had left on her, but there was a faint bruise just visible in the valley of her cleavage, set against the swell of her left breast, and Jack leered at it unashamedly.

“I just bet it was,” he said. “Anyways, Lucas, ain't it about time you showed yer girl here up to her room? You ain't even brought her luggage in!”

He shook his head, tutting in disapproval, making Lucas’s blood pressure rise.

“I was gonna,” he told his father sullenly.

Jack snorted.

“Huh. Just as well you got me around to let ya know how ta treat a lady,” he said.

“Oh, Lucas has been wonderful, Mr Baker,” said Rosalie loyally. “A real gentleman! He's taken care o’ my every need…..”

She squeezed Lucas’s hand, an action he returned gratefully. Jack looked doubtful but he wasn't about to call Rosalie a liar.

“Well, you be sure to treat that girl with respect,” he said to Lucas, as though Rosalie wasn't standing right there.

Lucas had to suppress an impatient huff at the caution. Crazy old bastard was flipping back and forth, one second lewd, the next prudish. He was going to fuck up everything, he wasn't careful.

Pointedly ignoring his father, Lucas turned to Rosalie. She been watching their interaction with perplexed disapproval.

“Let's go get yer stuff, huh, Rosalie?” suggested Lucas. “I'll show you where yer bedroom is….”

She smiled at him, the expression genuine - unlike, he now realised, the false smile she used for his father. The new knowledge made him feel so warm inside, even his alters had nothing to say. They'd been pretty much fucked into submission anyway.

“That’d be great, Lucas,” she agreed, and they left Jack standing there without a backward look.

Once out of earshot, Rosalie spoke more frankly.

“What is it with yer daddy?” she asked, a small frown puckering her features.

“What d’ya mean?”

Lucas panicked briefly. What had she noticed? Was his father being weird? Lucas wasn't qualified to make any kind of judgement on that these days.

“He's so hard on you! Seems like he always was, as I recall. I ain't never forgotten how he reacted towards you that day when the snake bit you. He thought the worst right off the bat! I tell ya, my daddy saw him in a completely different light after that day.”

“Well. Guess I couldn't never be good enough for him. Didn't like sports or nothin’ like that. He always planned for me ta join the army when I turned 18 too, but fuck that. I ain't goin’ to Iraq to get shot at.”

“But how could he be disappointed in you?” said Rosalie, honestly bewildered. “If I had a son like you, I'd be glad my genes threw out someone so smart!”

They were at her car now, Rosalie busy unlocking the trunk, so she didn't catch the look of near worship Lucas threw her.

“I mean, enterin’ robotics competitions when you were just a little kid? You were winnin’ prizes for engineerin’ when I was still playin’ with Barbie dolls! Seems to me your daddy don't appreciate you like he should…..”

She shook her head, her hair bouncing around her head as she reached into the trunk to retrieve a suitcase. She was bent over, her belly pressed against the rear of the car, revealing two neat rows of bruises in the shape of Lucas's fingers on the backs of her thighs. She wore his marks now - dozens of them all over her body where nobody else could see, and only the two of them knew they were there. It made Lucas go hot and cold all at once. The sudden impulse he had to whip up her skirts and fuck her from behind right there in front of the house had nothing to do with any of Lucas’s dwarves, and everything to do with the sheer wonder that was Rosalie.

Instead, realising just how inappropriate it would be, Lucas moved her gently aside and hefted her cases himself. His cock was a half-rigid bar in his jeans, and he wanted to her get upstairs as quickly as possible.

She favoured him with one of her glowing smiles at this evidence of chivalry, and as he gazed down into her fresh face, he wondered if this was how it felt to fall in love.

He couldn't wait for her to get infected and become one of the family.

 

“So what are we gonna do?  _ Think _ , Mia. You're the brains in this dynamic duo.”

Zoe had been round and round in circles and had gotten no further along with any plans. From the smitten look on Lucas’s face when they'd returned from the swamp, he wasn't going to let his new girl go without a fight, and he was so far under Eveline’s influence Zoe knew that he had no idea of how badly this could end.

“I  _ am  _ thinking, Zoe. But it's hard! There's so much to consider. We have to break it down, okay? Now: Eveline’s going to want to infect her as soon as possible. How do we think she's going to do that? Because there are two routes: The first one is very direct and involves forcing Rosalie to ingest her vomit - “

Zoe’s face creased in disgust, her stomach lurching at the thought.

“ - and the other one is more circuitous, making Rosalie eat the infected food. Now. I know for a fact that Jack sent Lucas off a couple of days ago to do some shopping……”

“He did?”

Zoe was shocked. The idea of a member of her family leaving the house and doing something as normal as shopping amongst actual people confounded her, and made her a little envious.

Mia nodded.

“He didn't go into Dulvey. He went further out. He came back with a bunch of receipts - from the hardware store, from Radio Shack, and from a few grocery stores. I think he used money they got from their victims. But they've got  _ food _ in the house.  _ Fresh _ food. So it seems like they don't intend to make Rosalie eat their disgusting slop just yet. Which makes me think Eveline’s going for the circuitous route. Gradually introducing the mold to her.”

“Okay,” said Zoe thoughtfully. “So for starters, maybe we should see if Momma will let us take over cookin’ duties for a while. Make sure Rosalie don't get no mold in her food.”

Mia shrugged.

“Worth a try, I guess. Also a chance to get some decent food for us, too.”

Zoe sighed.

“I don't know if Momma will be happy. She always did take pride in bein’ the homemaker….”

 

“I don't think I care for what you're implyin’,” sniffed Marguerite, regarding the two younger women suspiciously. “You think I'm incapable o’ providin’ food for our guest?”

Mia was quick to soothe her as Marguerite bristled, drawing herself up in preparation to be offended.

“No, of course not Marguerite!” she said hurriedly. “But you've been so busy lately, getting the house ready and organising everyone…..we just thought you could use a rest. Have yourself a little free time for a change…..”

Marguerite considered her suggestion.

“Well, that is true….” she conceded. “An’ I did want to spend me some time in the greenhouse. Eveline has shown me how to grow the special herbs, and they need tendin’ to.”

She appeared to warm to the idea.

“Plus the bugs in the old house have been neglected recently, what with all fuss goin’ on. I ain't been able to spend much time with ‘em, poor things…..”

Mia smiled.

“There you go! You deserve a little R and R, Marguerite. Can't function on an empty battery.”

Marguerite nodded.

“Yes. You're right, honey. Imma do just what you said.”

She smiled, and for a split second looked so much like the old Marguerite that Zoe felt a pang of sorrow, keen and bright. She'd lost so much in the previous months she could scarcely believe it at times.

Marguerite left the room, humming happily to herself.

“Mia, if you could bottle an’ sell your powers o’ persuasion, we could make ourselves a fortune,” said Zoe.

 

Rosalie had been assigned the master bedroom, all by itself on the other side of the walkway away from the other upstairs rooms. Mia had been using it, but she'd been unceremoniously evicted that morning, all evidence of her occupation removed.

“Well, this is great,” she observed as Lucas set her cases down. “We can make as much noise as we like here an’ not disturb anyone!”

She sat on the edge of the bed and smiled at him.

_ Lock the door behind ya, _ suggested Rapey.

Lucas did so, but not because he was worried, like Rapey, that Rosalie would flee screaming, but because he didn't want anyone barging in on them. He wouldn't put it past his father to burst in to check he was doing it right.

Rosalie raised her eyebrows as the key clicked in the lock, clasping her hands dramatically against her impressive bosom.

“Oh my! Trapped in here with this wild beast! Whatever shall I do?”

She fluttered her eyelashes, her damsel in distress act somewhat marred by her wicked little grin.

Lucas couldn't answer. His thoughts were in a turmoil, wanting everything at once, wanting to fuck her every which way but not knowing where to start.

Rosalie’s wide-eyed gaze travelled down to where his hard-on tented the front of his jeans.

“Goodness, Lucas!” she exclaimed. “You're the gift that keeps on givin’.....”

She sighed happily.

“So what d’ya wanna do? How d’ya want me? Is there anythin’ ya wanted to try? Cuz ya know, you were so sweet to me in the swamp,  it's only fair we do somethin’ that you like.”

She watched him expectantly, waiting for him to speak. He didn't know what to say. Rapey was making suggestions, but Lucas felt shy all of a sudden. He didn't want to repeat the crude things his mental companion was saying, and much of it involved physical bodily harm anyway. He wouldn't be able to do any of those things until Rosalie had the same regenerative powers as him.

He closed his eyes as obscenities rattled around in his skull.

“Lucas?” Rosalie’s voice came from far away. “Lucas, are you okay? You wanna fool around, right?”

_ Shut her up,  _ said Rapey.  _ Bitch is gettin’ too big for her britches. Talkin’ all the time, tellin’ ya what to do…..Shoulda kept that rag o’ her panties, woulda done just fine fer shovin’ down her goddam throat! _

“I don't wanna do that!” said Lucas out loud, his voice raised till it was nearly a shout. “Stop goin’ on at me!”

There was blessed silence as Rapey shut up, and Lucas rode the dying tension, allowing his ragged breathing to slow.

He opened his eyes.

Rosalie still sat on the bed, her mouth a perfect “O” of shock. She stared at him, the hurt plain on her face, and he realised with awful dismay that she thought he'd been talking to her.

She swallowed, the sound audible in the sudden silence.

“Well, I didn't mean nothin’ by it, Lucas…..” she said. “Sorry if I was bein’ too demandin’. I just thought - “

She stopped, unable or unwilling to go on, tears lining the rims of her eyes.

“No, Rosalie! It weren't you! It was - “

Lucas stopped too, unconsciously mimicking her halt. How in the fuck was he going to explain this?

Rosalie got to her feet, all brisk and business-like, rubbing at her unspilled tears, carefully not meeting his eye.

“You don't have to explain,” she said. “It's a fault o’ mine, I guess. Bryce always did say I couldn't keep my everlovin’ mouth shut.”

She heaved one of her cases onto the bed, opening it and beginning to rummage through the jumble of her belongings.

“You coulda just said, though. Weren't no need to shout, that weren't nice.”

Lucas heard her sniffle, and a sickening regret swept through him, carrying with it anger for the little shit taking up space in his head. Fucker was going to ruin everything.

“Rosalie, no….” he said, taking a step towards her, hating himself when she flinched.

“I wasn't talkin’ to you.”

“Well, who were you talkin’ to?” She still wouldn't look at him. “There's only the two of us in the room.”

She found a pair of panties, plain white cotton, and stooped to put them on. Her hands were shaking, her head hung low. Lucas watched her, his misery complete.

“I can't tell you, Rosalie,” he confessed. “ I can't tell you, cuz if I do, you'll run outta the house an’ I won't ever see you again.”

Rosalie pulled the sensible panties up her legs, settling them round her hips, her mouth a hard line.

“You don't know that,” she said, letting her skirts fall, smoothing them over her thighs.

“Didn't I tell you not half an hour ago I was sick o’ people tellin’ me how I oughta be?”

She slammed the suitcase shut, snapping the catches into place. Her sniffling had subsided now, upset giving way to indignation. She folded her arms under her breasts, and even in his sticky situation, Lucas couldn't help but admire how she looked.

“Try me, Lucas. At least gimme the chance to understand. Cuz if ya don't, I'm just gonna assume the worst an’ leave anyway.”

Lucas took a deep breath. He was terrified of her leaving - he knew Eveline would never allow it, and he didn't want to think what would happen if Eveline got mad at her.

“There's other people in my head,” he blurted.

Rosalie tipped her head to one side, scrutinising him.

“Go on…..” she said.

“I got these voices, an’ sometimes they want me to do bad stuff.”

“Do you mean like schizophrenia? Like they're just voices? Or are they like other personalities that take over?”

It was such a sensible question, Lucas floundered for a moment.

“I dunno,” he admitted. “Guess they're just voices, cuz sometimes they want me to do stuff and they're really strong but if I don't wanna do, I won't. They just yammer away an’ I can ignore them, even if they are annoyin’.”

“Hmm.”

Rosalie was thoughtful, considering what he said without prejudice.

“So one o’ them was talkin’ just now, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And they wanted you to do somethin’ ya didn't wanna do?”

Lucas nodded.

“What did they want ya to do?”

Lucas blushed. He didn't want to tell her.

“Somethin’ bad to you…...He likes bad sex stuff. Rough, violent stuff. He ain't very nice.”

“Don't he like me?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Lucas. “He likes you  _ a lot _ , in his own way. It's just the way he is, I guess. That's all he knows.”

“You said there were others….how many?”

Lucas shrugged.

“Don't rightly know. I got three active right now, but there are more, I know it. They come out accordin’ to the situation, I guess.”

Rosalie sat on the bed, patting the space next to her.

The fact that she hadn't left yet gave Lucas hope, and the three personalities currently occupying his head space were listening with fascination. Cautiously, he sat next to her, hoping they'd remain quiet.

“Tell me about ‘em. The three that are there now.”

Lucas did his best to explain, leaving out the more gory details, and Rosalie listened to everything.

“So today in the swamp it was Bitey……” she said. “An’ he wanted to tear me up. But because we let him get some o’ what he wanted, he was happy with that?”

“Seems like it. He's been quiet ever since.”

Rosalie was thoughtful.

“I gotta say, Lucas, I am a little scared. I mean this Rapey guy, if he was to get loose….he could really fuck me up.”

“He could, yeah. But I been fightin’ him a while now, an’ I ain't never let him get the better o’ me. He’s been wantin’ to…..”

Lucas paused. He hadn't told Rosalie about the Zoe-thoughts and didn't intend to.

“He's been wantin’ to do stuff for a long time, an’ I haven't let him. I can handle him, I reckon. He's mostly just a pain in the ass. Always yappin’, always makin’ suggestions.”

“Oh, Lucas,” sighed Rosalie. “It must be so awful for you, you poor thing! I feel so bad for you.”

She took his hand, and the trust implicit in the gesture nearly floored him.

“But I believe you. I believe  _ in  _ you. If you think you can keep him under control, I'll take your word for it.”

“Really? So you'll stay?”

She shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, it ain't your fault. But you gotta promise me two things: That you'll let me know if they get too strong and you think you might do somethin’ bad, and that you'll get help. I'm sure your condition can be treated.”

Lucas agreed to both, clinging onto her hand, desperate for her not to leave, even though he knew one of the promises was a lie.

Rosalie smiled at him, her sunny disposition restored.

“Well now. That's settled then. What do you wanna do now?”

 

In the kitchen, Zoe paused in her task. She'd been peeling potatoes when a flake of plaster fell from the ceiling onto the counter in front of her.

“What in the hell…..?”

Mia looked up from the corn cobs she was stripping.

“Sounds like they're at it again,” she commented, turning back to her task with a small grimace.

Zoe listened, and immediately tried to block out the sounds she was hearing overhead, wishing she hadn't noticed. The rapid rhythm of squeaking bedsprings resounded through the floorboards and shivered across the ceiling, causing more plaster and shreds of dusty cobweb to rain down. She brushed them aside, wishing there was a radio in the kitchen to blot out the noises.

“Seems like Lucas is getting the hang of it,” remarked Mia, raising her voice over the growing crescendo.

“Mia, please!” begged Zoe.

There was an irregular knocking noise accompanying the creaks now - either the bed legs rattling against the floor or the bed head thumping against the wall. Rosalie chimed in, squealing above it all.

Mia sighed and rested her chin on her hand.

“Pity, really,” she said. “I did all the groundwork, she gets the benefit. Hardly seems fair….”

Zoe brandished the paring knife at her companion.

“Mia, can we just pretend this ain't happenin’?”

Mia shrugged.

“Kinda hard to do that, don't you think?” she said, but resumed her chore, tearing cornsilk from the ears before her.

Zoe started peeling again, fighting the unconscious urge to scrape in time to the pounding up above.

Jack breezed into the kitchen, and Zoe tensed at his sudden presence. He seemed amicable, his tie stripped off, good shirt unbuttoned at the throat, but she was unable to relax when he was around.

“Well now, what are you two doin’ here? Where's Marguerite?”

“She had some jobs to do in the other buildings,” said Mia. “So we're taking care of dinner.”

Jack eyed the fresh meat and vegetables laid out on the counter with disappointment.

“Hmph,” he grunted. “That pussy food ain't gonna have no flavour to it! But if that's the way Eveline wants it, I ain't gonna argue, I guess……”

There was a sudden jolt from upstairs, something smashing on the floor, but the grinding overhead didn't cease. Instead it got faster, two voices joined in evident pleasure ripping through the complaints of the furniture.

Jack glanced up at the ceiling, a perverse grin splaying his lips from his teeth.

“Heh heh….that's ma boy!” he said. “Musta inherited his abilities from his old man, I reckon.”

Zoe winced, starting to cut the potatoes into chunks with more force than necessary.

Seemingly satisfied with the activities underway within the house, Jack wandered off again, leaving the two women to cringe beneath the onslaught of enthusiastic sex noises.

 

Dinner was nearly finished before Rosalie and Lucas were, and Zoe had become so desensitised to what she was hearing she and Mia had begun to place bets.

“I bet you she screams his name again in the next two minutes,” said Mia.

“You're on. What are the stakes?”

“Extra helping of potatoes.”

They listened, counting the time under their breath.

_ “Aw, goddam Rosalie!”  _ yelled Lucas, his voice hoarse from similar previous exclamations.

“I win this round!” said Zoe, triumphant.

“No you haven't,” objected Mia. “Hasn't been two minutes yet!”

“117, 118, 119, 120! Time's up! Potatoes are mine!”

“Well, shit!” said Mia, exasperated. “I felt sure she would! Your turn.”

“I bet…..they switch positions again in the next….5 minutes.”

“Stakes?”

“Extra gravy.”

“Ok. Go!”

 

Mercifully, the exertions upstairs had come to an end before Eveline made her appearance.

The child had a habit of turning up unexpectedly, and Zoe had no idea where she spent her time or what she did during her absence. Mia had said that whilst she did require sleep and nourishment, it was only a fraction of what a normal child would need.

“You two did the cooking?” said Eveline as she walked into the room.

“Yes, Evie sweetheart,” said Mia. “Marguerite’s tending the herbs and her bugs.”

Eveline studied the pair of them with her piercing glare, going beyond their expressions and wriggling into their minds in search of their intent.

Zoe had learned some techniques from Mia on how to withstand the probing, and concentrated on the basic steps she had taken to prepare dinner, allowing the girl to see her chopping vegetables, running water into a pan. Eveline seemed to grow bored as Zoe measured seasonings, and allowed her focus to drift away.

“Where's the gravy?” she asked.

Mia pointed wordlessly to the small pan simmering on the stove. 

“I'm going to start her off gradually,” Eveline told them. “I can give her more when she takes to it.”

With this cryptic statement, Eveline stood by the stove, her brow furrowing with effort, and Zoe instinctively backed away a few steps. The child’s breathing deepened, a rumbling sound coming from her stomach and rising through her chest, and after a couple of seconds she retched, cupping her hand under her mouth and spitting a quantity of black goo into her hand.

Zoe turned her face away, nausea threatening to overcome her as Eveline held her hand over the bubbling pan, allowing the substance to dribble into the gravy, dripping from her fingers in long strands.

“Stir it in,” she ordered, and Zoe advanced on shaky legs to obey. Her throat contracted at the sight of the black stuff marbling the mellow cream of the gravy, and as she swirled it despairingly in with the wooden spoon she caught sight of Eveline from the corner of her eye, licking her palm clean.

Zoe gagged, her eyes watering, sour spit flooding her mouth.

“Here, I'll do it,” said Mia, hurrying to take over. “Zoe hasn't been feeling well, Evie.”

Zoe retreated under the child's watchful gaze, a cruel smirk of amusement touching the little girl's lips.

“How are Rosalie and Lucas getting on?” she inquired as Mia finished stirring the contamination into the ruined gravy. It had a subtle greyish tinge to it now.

“I'd say they're getting on very well,” said Mia carefully. “They seem….very fond of each other.”

“That's nice!” said Eveline cheerfully. “Does it make you sad, Mommy? That Lucas likes her better than you?”

There was a sly undertone to the question, but Mia wouldn't be drawn.

“A little, if I'm being honest. But Rosalie is a much better match for Lucas.”

Eveline nodded sagely.

“Of course. I knew they would be! Are you excited for the wedding?”

Mia smiled, her eyes glassy.

“I can hardly wait,” she said.

Eveline stood on tiptoe, observing the finished gravy with satisfaction.

“You won't have to wait long,” she predicted. “I can't wait either....”

 

Rosalie and Lucas lay on the queen sized bed, the covers tangled around their naked limbs. Rosalie was flushed pink from exertion, but she snuggled up to Lucas contentedly, her head resting on his shoulder.

Lucas marvelled at her trust. After all he'd told her, the woman had still welcomed him with open arms and open legs, allowing him to do things he'd only ever dreamed about. Wallowing in the afterglow, he wound his fingers into the golden tresses tumbling over his chest, revelling in the sensation of the warm, naked flesh nestled in the crook of his arm.

“Well, how are those pesky voices now?” she asked him, her breath creating a warm mist on his neck.

Lucas listened, blissful silence filling his mind.

“They shut up,” he told her. “Ain't sayin’ a word. Reckon we done tuckered them out.”

She giggled, a pleasant note of innocent charm that was just as attractive to Lucas as her more throaty moans of desire.

“Well, that's the answer, then,” she declared. “Every time they start makin’ a fuss, we gotta fuck ‘em back down again.”

She slung her leg over his with a luxurious little sigh, hooking her ankle around his calf. Her hand lay on his belly, scarlet nails scraping at the hair that climbed up to his navel in an absent-minded fashion.

“Ya think anybody heard us?” she asked, not sounding like she cared all that much.

Lucas glanced around the room at the devastation they'd caused: the smashed vase strewing its shards across the floor; the dents in the wall behind the bed head; the framed picture that had come crashing down in the wake of the vibrations, its glass webbed with cracks.

“Think they may o’ done…..” he ventured. “Don't matter though.”

“No. It don't matter…..”

Her voice was soft, laden with comfortable weariness, and within a few minutes genteel little snores were wheezing into his ear.

Lucas lay still, not wanting to disturb her, revelling in the feel of her generous curves sandwiched next to his sinewy body, and though he was the happiest he had ever felt in his life, something was wrong.

His Eveline-sodden mind was sluggish when it came to certain subjects: Actions and consequences being one such topic. Soaked in the child's particular brand of logic, he found it difficult to foresee problems unless it related to a mechanical device he was constructing, and now he struggled to make sense of an idea that was wedged somewhere deep down in an unfamiliar part of his brain.

Zoe had said something about Rosalie dying, hadn't she? When had she said that?

Rosalie mumbled, incoherent sleep talk, and Lucas tightened his arm around her possessively.

Rosalie couldn't die. That would be…..bad? He hadn't planned for that. Surely Eveline wouldn't allow it.

He turned his head to look at her. Her eyes were moving back and forth as she dreamed, her lips drawn into a thoughtful pout at whatever played behind her closed lids. He hoped her dreams were pleasant.

Eveline wanted to keep her. Eveline wanted to be a flower girl. Rosalie had to be alive for that.

Lucas thought of infected Rosalie, and the notion cheered him up immensely. She'd be majestic, bouncing back from whatever was inflicted on her, her energy boundless. He wouldn't have to be so careful then - he'd really be able to go crazy, not hold back. And she'd be able to do more stuff too. His cock twitched at the thought of what she'd be capable of.

Yes. Things would be great once she was infected and they were married. Rosalie Baker. It sounded good. It sounded  _ right _ .

 

Lucas must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew there was a gentle rapping on the other side of the bedroom door.

“Who's that?” he snorted, jerked from sleep.

Rosalie’s body jolted next to him, his voice piercing her dreams, and he quickly cuddled her up to him, stroking the bare shoulder hunched over his chest.

“It's Zoe,” came his sister's voice. “Supper’s ready. Eveline requires the pleasure o’ yer company.”

Rapey had also been stirred to wakefulness by the sound of Zoe's voice, but to Lucas’s surprise his alter merely grunted and turned over. He wasn't interested in Zoe anymore.

Feeling like a weight had been lifted from him, Lucas eased his head from the pillow.

“We'll be right down,” he answered, delighting in the fact that his sister's presence no longer caused the barely restrained rage he carried to rise up in its usual torrent of depravity.

He listened to her footsteps retreating, feeling calm and composed and contented for the first time in many months.

Gently, he brushed tendrils of hair from Rosalie’s face.

“Rosalie. Rosalie!”

“Huh?”

She stirred, blinking, wiping a patch of drool from her cheek.

“We gonna fuck again?” she asked sleepily, inquisitive fingers seeking out his prick.

It lay, stiff, against his belly, easily found, and she wrapped her hand round it, snagging up behind the head and squeezing.

Lucas sucked in breath through his teeth.

“Naw, supper’s ready,” he told her. “We gotta join the others.”

She whimpered with disappointment, her thumb stroking the engorged organ she held, her thigh tightening around his.

“Can't we do it again first? I been dreamin’ ‘bout ya, Lucas….”

The damp velvet of her tongue brushed his earlobe.

Lucas looked down at her, the swells of her creamy flesh dappled with the livid marks of his teeth from earlier, breasts squashed between them, and relented.

“Well, maybe just a quickie…..” he said, rolling over her and insinuating himself between her legs.

Rosalie’s mouth curved upwards, her clutching hand guiding him in.

 

His family had been waiting, sat around the table, and Rosalie blushed when she saw them. Jack winked knowingly as he pushed a chair out for her, and Lucas steered her towards it,  pushing her chair in once she was sat.

Marguerite beamed at her son, clearly enchanted by his manners, but Zoe was shaking her head at him, disbelief etched across her face.

She didn't say anything though, and with his new composure Lucas wasn't inclined to start an argument.

“‘Bout time you joined us. Reckon you two must've worked up quite an appetite, huh?” said Jack.

He dropped Lucas a wink, chuckling at Rosalie’s discomfiture.

Marguerite swatted him on the arm.

“Hush now, Jack,” she scolded. “Can't you see you're embarrassin’ the girl?”

She smiled at Rosalie.

“Don't you pay him no mind, honey. Now. Let's get to eatin’.”

His mother regarded the fare laid before them doubtfully.

“I'm sure Zoe and Mia did the best they could…..” she said. “I do hope it's alright…..”

“It looks just fine!” decided Rosalie. “You did real good, ladies.”

Zoe smiled at Rosalie, and for a split second Lucas was consumed with jealousy.

_ She better keep her hands of your girl!  _ spluttered Snarky.  _ She gonna try an’ steal her away? _

Lucas had picked up his fork, and his hand tightened round it, quite prepared to stab his sister in the neck before he remembered that the whole dyke thing had been an invention. He settled back down and watched Rosalie load up her plate.

She ate enthusiastically, Jack’s comment about her appetite apparently well founded. Lucas was pleased. He liked to see a woman enjoy her food - he couldn't abide those girls who only ate salad and worried about gluten constantly. Rosalie was going to need to be strong for her transformation, and the mold laced food was going to supply her with everything required.

Eveline was frowning at her, he noticed, and it worried him.

“You didn't have any gravy,” she pouted. “Don't you like it?”

“Oh, I love gravy, honey,” said Rosalie. “It don't like me, though. I'm lactose intolerant. I have gravy with my supper, I'm likely to suffer for it later.”

Eveline scowled.

“Lactose intolerant? What even is that?”

“Oh, it just means that if I have too much dairy, it can make me feel mighty ill afterwards.”

Eveline was looking distinctly grumpy for some reason, and it made Lucas feel nervous.

“Anything else we should know about?” she asked sourly.

Rosalie looked puzzled and uncomfortable, but kept her reply light.

“Well, I guess y’all should know, in case somethin’ happens: I'm allergic to penicillin too. That's a mite more serious. That could  _ kill  _ me.”

“Well, you don't have to worry about that,” said Marguerite. “We ain't gonna be puttin’ any o’ that in the food!”

Rosalie laughed, setting Lucas’s mind at ease, but he caught sight of Mia across the table. He knew Eveline didn't want him looking at her, but her face was so tight with horror it made him curious. Even Zoe had caught it, and was staring at her with confusion.

Lucas decided not to worry about Mia. She had nothing he wanted any more. He grabbed the jug of gravy and poured a copious amount over his supper.

 

“Why did you look so rattled at the table?” Zoe asked Mia later.

They were back in the trailer, both comfortably full after eating more than they had in months, and Zoe was soothing her swollen belly with sips of water.

“It might not be anything……” said Mia, looking uneasy. “But it's about what Rosalie said at supper.”

“What, about bein’ lactose intolerant?” Zoe sniggered. “I had to try my damndest not to laugh out loud at that! Eveline’s face…!”

Mia shook her head.

“No, not that. The penicillin allergy.”

Zoe frowned.

“You think Eveline’s gonna use  _ that _ ?”

“No, but think, Zoe - what is penicillin?”

Zoe shrugged.

“Antibiotic?”

“What else? I mean, what's it derived from?”

Zoe struggled to remember her science class at school.

“Mold?”

“That's right. Mold. A specific type, sure, but what if - and this is just a theory - she turns out to be allergic to other types of mold too? What if Eveline’s mold doesn't change her, but kills her instead?”

Zoe considered Mia’s idea with growing horror.

“Do you think that could happen?”

Mia shrugged.

“It's possible. I mean, this isn't just any mold. This is some strong, infectious, molecular changing shit. I hope I'm wrong, but if I'm not, Rosalie could die before the mold gets to change her at all.”

“Holy shit…..Mia, we gotta try an’ talk to Lucas.”

“I know. It's gonna be hard work convincing him, though.”

Mia peered out through the curtains, looking at the house all lit up.

“Can't do it now, either. They almost have to be fucking again, don't you think?”

Zoe nodded.

“I'm too tired and too fat to think about it now, anyways. Scooch over, Mia - I'm gonna get some sleep.”

 

Rosalie was asleep, curled up like a cat against him, but Lucas was more wide awake than he'd ever been. It was the mold, mostly - he didn't need as much sleep as he used to - but his mind was too busy to allow him to rest anyway.

Lucas had planned to spend the entire night inside Rosalie, but after their fourth session of the day she was exhausted.

“I wanna do it again, Lucas, but I ain't gonna be able to walk straight tomorrow as it is. Where d’ya get all your energy from?”

Lucas shrugged. It came from the mold, of course, but he couldn't tell Rosalie that yet.

“You ain't mad, are you?” she’d asked, slumping back on the mattress, her eyelids already drooping.

“Naw, ain't  mad,” Lucas told her, and he wasn't, but her lack of stamina was a tiny bit annoying.

When she was changed, things would be different: There would be less sleep and more fucking. Lots more. 

Until then, he was impatient, lying there next to her sleeping form, wondering if it would be rude to continue without her.

He was just considering starting anyway when there was a change in the energy in the room, one he was all too familiar with, and he hurriedly pulled the sheet over himself and Rosalie as Eveline appeared by the bed.

“How are things going, Lucas?” she asked.

Lucas opened his mouth to reply, but Evie shook her head.

“No - don't say it out loud, use your mind. I don't want to wake her up.”

Lucas nodded. Eveline was so clever, always thinking of everything.

_ “It's goin’ real good, Eveline,”  _ he thought. _ “She really likes me!” _

The fact that she evidently did still astounded Lucas, but Eveline only smiled.

“Of course she does! Why wouldn't she? You're a great brother and you're really smart.”

Lucas glowed with pride, her words filling him with a pleasurable fulfilment that even fucking Rosalie couldn't compare with.

“But she didn't eat the gravy tonight,” said Eveline. “And that's bad, because that's where I put the mold.”

_ “Oh no! You gonna try again?” _

Eveline shrugged.

“Maybe. But I'm not sure whether I'll have to.”

_ “Why not?” _

“Because I talked to Daddy Jack and he thinks it's possible you're already infecting her,” she said. “With your -- “

She waved her hands expressively, not knowing the word she needed, wrinkling her nose with distaste.

“You know! Baby juice….”

_ “Ohhhh…..you think that'll do it?” _

“I'm not sure. But I think maybe. So you'll have to put as much as possible in her.”

Lucas grinned in the darkness. He didn't think that would be a problem, but something occurred to him.

_ “D’ya think it would work faster if she, uh, swallowed it?” _

“Ewwww! Lucas, that's gross!” chided Eveline, her face screwing up in disgust.

Lucas blushed, but the idea had an exciting fascination to it and he intended to try if Rosalie was agreeable.

_ “Sorry, Eveline……” _

“Anyway, I'll tell Daddy Jack and Momma Bear you don't have to do any chores for a while, so you can stay with Rosalie. That's your job, now: Keeping her happy, and keep infecting her. Okay?”

Lucas cheered inwardly. No chores  _ and _ he got to fuck Rosalie night and day. Life was grand.

_ “Okay, thanks Eveline! I won't let ya down!” _

“I know you won't.”

 

Lucas lay awake all night, wondering how much sleep Rosalie needed and if she'd be pissed if he woke her up. The naked body next to him was a constant torment, and the frenzy of sexual activity he'd experienced during the past day hadn't slaked his libido one bit. If anything, his hunger had grown at the discovery that fucking could be so  _ intense _ .

And now he had a motive - no, a  _ duty _ \- to do it as much as possible.

She moaned in her sleep a few times, and he watched her twitching face with fascination, wondering whether she was having a bad dream or a good one. He'd love to get inside her head and find out, share her sleep-world, maybe join in on her adventures.

Would that be possible, once she was infected? The only person in the house he had that link with was Eveline, but she'd infected him. If he was infecting Rosalie, would he be able to get inside her mind at some point in the future? That would be  _ fun _ ….

The constant focus of his attention must have infiltrated her consciousness eventually, as while the rosy pink of dawn seeped through the curtains she opened her eyes to find him gazing down at her. She jumped slightly, startled, but recovered almost instantly, smiling up at him.

“Hey Lucas. How long you been awake?” she asked, yawning.

“Not long,” he lied.

She stretched luxuriously, the length of her body tensing then relaxing, and glanced at the window. Sunlight was just beginning to creep through the crack in the curtains.

“It's still early,” she pointed out, but didn't shy away from the hard-on that was currently attempting to bore a new hole in her hip.

“I know. But I couldn't wait any longer…..”

He glided in to sample the skin on the side of her neck with his mouth, hands creeping round her with as much apology as he could muster. He honestly couldn't wait, but if she was really firm with him, he'd relent.

Luckily for him, Rosalie giggled, allowing his fingers to roam and settling back onto the pillows.

“Well, I'm willin’ to oblige you. But you might have to do most o’ the work. Still tired, ya know….”

“That's fine!” he said eagerly, sliding over her. “I don't mind that at all!”

He was already halfway in when Rosalie put her arm around him, laying the flat of her hand between the wings of his shoulder blades, and her sudden hiss of pain stopped him in his tracks.

“What's wrong? Am I hurtin’ ya?”

Though he was concerned, his cock was currently enveloped in her warm wetness, and he had to fight to keep his hips from moving in reflex. She felt so good, but her face was twisted in discomfort, and his concern struggled against his desire.

“Naw, it ain't you, Lucas - it's my hands!”

She brought both hands close to her face, squinting at them in the ruddy light.

Reluctantly, Lucas withdrew, stifling his moan of disappointment.

“What's wrong with ‘em?”

“I'm not sure. They're really sore, like sunburn or somethin’....”

Lucas took her wrist and turned her hand over, examining the palm closely. The skin looked slightly shinier than normal, but there was no redness or any other kind of markings.

“They look ok,” he said doubtfully. “Maybe it was from holdin’ onto that chair so tight earlier. Might o’ bruised ‘em?”

Rosalie giggled.

“Maybe. Was clutchin’ it pretty hard.”

She kissed him.

“Don't pay it no mind. Prolly nothin’. You just keep goin’....”

Lucas didn't need telling twice.

 

Zoe opened her eyes to the rising sun casting a bright beam across her face.

For a moment, she forgot she was sharing her trailer with someone else and as the body next to her moved she flinched.

“It's okay, it's only me,” said Mia.

Zoe turned her head to see her companion lying close by, her face haggard from lack of sleep.

“How long you been awake?” she asked blearily.

Mia shrugged one shoulder in a hopeless gesture.

“Too fucking long. I don't know how you could sleep through your brother and Rosalie fucking so loud.”

Zoe raised her head off the pillow, listening, but heard nothing.

“Oh, they're done now. For the moment,” said Mia bitterly. “Who knows how long till they start again though?”

The other woman lifted her pillow and pummelled it savagely before dumping it down again and slamming her head onto it.

“You alright, Mia?”

“No! I'm not! I'm tired, I miss my husband and I want to go home!”

She rolled over, burying her face, sobs shaking her prone body.

Appalled, Zoe rubbed her back awkwardly. She'd seen Mia depressed, angry, scared and possessed, but she'd never seen her so despairing.

“Shit, Mia…..”

She felt helpless faced with her misery. There was nothing she could say, no support she could give. Mia lifted her hand and waved her away.

“S’okay…..get like this a lot…..you just don't see it….” she said, her voice muffled by cloth. “I'll be fine in a moment.”

Zoe snuggled down under her covers, watching the other woman's crying jag subside. When she finally turned back over, her face was wet but she managed a bashful smile.

“Sorry,” she said. “Something I have to get out of my system once in awhile.”

She sniffled, wiping the back of her hand under her nose in a childish gesture.

“You don't gotta apologise,” said Zoe. “I understand.”

“I know, but...I like to seem like I've got it together. And hearing those two going at it so hard…..”

She shook her head.

“Guess I'm more jealous than I thought. How easily I was replaced, huh?”

It was odd to Zoe that somebody might be jealous over Lucas. All her life he'd been That Weird Kid, then That Weird Guy, who nobody wanted, and now all of a sudden he was up in bed with one woman while another mourned his loss.

Mia saw her expression.

“I know, I know. It's not what you think, though. It's more….wounded pride, maybe? I'm not about to throw myself off the roof because Lucas jilted me. I just liked knowing he was there if I wanted him. Stupid, right?”

“No. Not really. I think I understand what ya mean. But if you're right about Rosalie’s allergy, she might not be around for you to worry about much longer….”

Mia's face tightened with guilt.

“Shit. You put it like that….”

She sighed.

“What are we gonna do, Zoe?”

Zoe shrugged.

“Wait an’ see, I guess. Ya never know - she might take to it fine.”

“That doesn't help…..”

“I know, but the more I think about it, the less I feel like we can do anythin’. Look how successful I was at rescuin’ Tyler an’ Fatima……”

Zoe choked off her words, her throat closing up painfully at the mention of sweet Fatima. She may have fucked Tyler, but Fatima was the one who had affected her the most - Fatima was the one who had made a willing sacrifice of herself, just to save Zoe. Fatima was the one she had killed….

Zoe swallowed the threatening tears, and shook the feeling off.

“Lucas by hisself I reckon we could handle - maybe. But put Momma an’ Daddy in the picture, it gets worse. An’  _ Eveline _ …..Well, what have we got to use against her? Nothin’. She's got you under her control, an’ even me to some extent. An’ she wants to be a flower girl.”

Mia thought for a moment.

“Alcohol,” she said.

“Whut?”

“Alcohol. That's our weapon against Eveline. We can use it, and so can Lucas. I know he hasn't gotten drunk in a good while, I think he'd jump at the chance.”

“And you think we could reason with him while he's drunk?”

Zoe was dubious to say the least.

“I don't think he'd give up his new love just like that, if that's what you mean, but could we convince the pair of them how much danger Rosalie is in?” Mia shrugged. “It's possible.”

“I guess,” conceded Zoe. “An’ at the very worst, we can have ourselves a fine little party! Right?”

“Right. We better raid the house for some booze.”

“Beer ain't gonna cut it,” said Zoe, warming to the idea. “I think I know where Daddy keeps the keys to his liquor cabinet…..”

 

Rosalie’s hands still hurt, but that was the least of their worries.

She sat up in bed, nervously turning her arms over, studying the blotchy rash that had begun to form over the lower parts.

“What is it?” Lucas asked.

He didn't like the look of the rash - ragged, rusty spots climbing her arms. It smacked of infection, and not the good, Eveline type of infection.

“I don't know,” said Rosalie. “I mean, it looks like the reaction I get from penicillin, but I ain't had none o’ that. I'm very careful. Can't even eat moldy bread.”

Lucas poked one of the spots.

“Does it hurt?”

“Naw. Don't even itch. Not yet, anyways.”

She cast an anxious glance in Lucas’s direction.

“If it gets any worse, though, Imma have to see a doctor.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Lucas, knowing he could never allow that. “But, hey! It might not even be a problem. Hold up a minute, Rosalie.”

He had an idea.

The goop in the green bottles was all over the house, just laying around wherever it was mixed up. Eveline had given them the herbs to use, and while they worked okay on their own, it had been Lucas who had discovered that they were far more efficient if combined with some of the fluids he'd found on the ship.

Jack may not have allowed him on the wreck, but he and Eveline had visited it many times on their adventurous excursions, spending happy afternoons exploring the decks, playing dangerous games of tag and hide and seek in the mold-choked corridors. Eveline had also allowed him to salvage as much as he wanted, his prize find being a grenade launcher complete with ammo he'd discovered in one of the cabins.

One time they'd found a survivor - a man who was likely the ship’s cook, holed up in the galley with supplies to last for months. He'd been trapped there by debris and the binding effect of the mold, and he'd cried with relief when Lucas had ripped a passage through to his hideout. Of course, later he'd cried for different reasons….and begged and pleaded and fought and puked. Lucas thought he was probably dead by now, but he hadn't checked on him in awhile. Maybe he could take Rosalie with him once she'd turned.

The chem-fluids had also been in plentiful supply, and Lucas had lugged it home by the barrel full at Eveline’s direction, showing him how to make a healing solution far more effective than the herbs on their own. It would, she said, be faster to regrow any lost any body parts than his regeneration by itself. Good old Eveline - always looking out for her family. It was plain to see she cared about them, giving them such useful tools for survival…..

Lucas found a bottle in the dresser against the wall and brought it over to Rosalie.

“What's that?” she asked.

“We just call it ‘goop’,” he told her. “It's made outta herbs an’ shit, an’ it works like an antiseptic, I guess. It'll sort ya right out!”

He unscrewed the lid.

“I dunno, Lucas. I mean, I gotta be careful… What herbs are they?”

Lucas shrugged.

“My mom grows ‘em in the greenhouse. Some old-timey natural remedy,” he lied, extending the bottle towards her. “You gonna let me dose you up? Can't have my girl sick.”

“Well….maybe try just a little….see how it goes,” cautioned Rosalie.

While outwardly Lucas agreed, inwardly he was scornful. When had “just a little” ever been enough?

With a jerk of his arm he splashed a gout of it over her wrist, the momentum carrying it up her forearm.

Rosalie flinched, yanking her arm back. 

“Lucas!” she chided. “What did I just say?”

Lucas grinned.

“Aww, you worry too much, Rosalie! This here is some awesome shit! It'll fix you right - “

He stopped, his words dying in his throat as Rosalie’s skin began to redden where the goop had landed. Her mouth fell open in horror, a whimper escaping her as the rash flared and inflamed before their eyes, the blotches growing and melding together.

“Lucas! It burns!” she wailed. “Oh! Make it stop!”

Confused, Lucas pulled on his pants, practically jumping into them with both feet.

“We gotta get to the bathroom - wash it off,” he directed. “Quickly now!”

He grabbed the sheet from the bed, damp and covered with their mingled bodily fluids, and whisked it round her in a makeshift robe.

Panicking, Rosalie stumbled to her feet, her arm held up before her. It had begun to swell.

Lucas lifted her, scooping her up into his arms easily and running to the bedroom door, kicking it open.

“I can walk…..” she protested plaintively, but he shook his head impatiently.

“Quicker this way,” he argued, sprinting along the balcony and smashing his way through the door on the opposite side.

He was vaguely aware of female voices down below, raised in distress and shock, but he ignored them.

In the bathroom he set Rosalie on her feet, turning the cold faucet on full and thrusting her arm beneath the flow. She screeched in shock as the water hit her inflamed flesh, trying to pull away, but he gripped her elbow firmly and held it in place.

In the muddled recesses of his mind, he realised that something had gone very wrong, and was intent on undoing the damage.

“Ow! Lucas, no, it hurts…!”

“I'm sorry, Rosalie - truly I am - but we gotta try this!”

Behind him, the bathroom door burst open and Zoe and Mia tumbled in, their cries joining the general confusion.

_ “What is it, Lucas? What's goin’ on?” _

_ “Lucas, what did you do? Is she okay?” _

_ “Lucas, ohmagawd, her arm!” _

He filled his lungs.

“EVER’BODY JUST HUSH NOW!” he yelled. “CAN'T HEAR MASELF THINK!”

An immediate silence descended, broken only by the steady gush of water. He closed his eyes, struggling to dampen down his temper, hearing his heart beating in his ears.

“Just hush now,” he repeated more quietly.

Rosalie was regarding him with wide-eyed consternation, and he forced a reassuring smile.

“It's okay,” he said. “I ain't mad.”

He examined the skin on her arm carefully. It was still an angry crimson, but slightly less that it had been, he was sure.

“You just keep that there arm under the water,” he instructed her. “Make sure it's a washed off…..”

“All  _ what's  _ washed off, Lucas?” demanded Zoe, over her initial shock at being yelled at.

“The goop. The healing goop,” he answered wearily. “She was comin’ up in a rash, an’ I thought it would help….”

“Um, that may not have been a good idea,” said Mia.

“Well, I know that  _ now!” _ he responded, sneering. “Question is, how did  _ you _ know?”

Unphased by his vitriol, Mia held her ground.

“I didn't know. I only suspected,” she said. “With Rosalie being allergic to penicillin, which is a kind of  _ mold _ ……”

Lucas stared at her. Mold. The Mold. Was it possible? Could his sweet angel be allergic to the amazing Mold?

He turned back to Rosalie, who was snivelling as she bathed her arm, his heart sinking into his guts. He was pretty sure the goop was washed off now, and leaned over wordlessly to shut off the faucet.

“Think yer done now,” he told her gently, binding a towel round her arm. “It should get better…..but, uh, you oughta go back to the bedroom a spell. I gotta talk to Zoe an’ Mia.”

Rosalie looked reluctant, but ever the agreeable sweetheart that she was she did as she was told without complaint, clutching the spotty sheet around her as she left.

Lucas faced the two women.

“Okay. Y’all better tell me what you  _ suspect _ ,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

 

Zoe remained silent as Mia explained what they'd talked about between them, watching as Lucas’s expression slowly crumbled from truculence to despondency.

She felt bad for him, faced with this theory they'd cooked up, but she also was relieved that he appeared to be taking it seriously.

By the time Mia had finished, he had slumped down on the edge of the bathtub, his head hanging under the weight of his dejection.

“So you reckon it'll kill her ‘fore it turns her?” he asked finally.

“We thought it might, but seeing what the goop has done to her…..well, it seems more than likely.”

“So what do I gotta do?” he said, his voice subdued.

“You have to get Rosalie out of here before it's too late,” said Mia.

Lucas raised his head, glaring at her.

“No!” he said. “She ain't goin’ nowhere!”

“But Lucas…..!”

“Uh-uh.”

He shook his head vigorously.

“Nope. Rosalie ain't leavin’.”

“But she might die!”

“That's what you say! How do I know you just ain't jealous, tryna get rid o’ her so I'm free to fuck you some more?”

Flabbergasted, Mia had no response.

Lucas got to his feet, his face set with the stubborn expression Zoe knew only too well.

“Lucas, you have to listen!” she begged. “Mia ain't doin’ that!”

“Just fuck off, the pair o’ ya! Fuckin’ plottin’ an’ schemin’....wonder what Eveline would say to all this?”

He made to leave, but Zoe grabbed his arm, desperate for him to see sense. He rounded on her, his teeth bared in a snarl, and goosebumps sprang up on her skin at the resemblance he bore to the monster who had eaten her ear, but she held fast despite the fist he raised. This wasn't the Lucas-beast - this was her brother, upset and anguished at the thought of giving up what he was surely beginning to need, and even though he said differently, she knew that deep down he was entertaining the thought that they were right. He just couldn't bring himself to admit it.

“Get offa me!” he snapped, but she shook her head.

“No, Lucas….”

Her voice was soft, sympathetic, and he sagged in her grasp at the tone, his fist lowering as his shoulders drooped.

“I don't wanna….” he moaned. “I don't wanna give her up, Zoe…..”

“I know you don't, Lucas. But sometimes we gotta give up things we really want. For their sake…..”

Lucas sighed. He refused to look her in the eye, and for a few beats they simply stood there, not speaking.

Choosing her words carefully, Zoe ducked her head down to meet his gaze.

“You gotta think o’ Rosalie,” she began.

She got no further, the sound of running feet beating their way in their direction.

“Lucas!”

It was Rosalie, her voice frantic, halfway towards a scream.

“Lucas, come quickly!”

Lucas shoved Zoe aside and barreled through the bathroom door, Zoe and Mia on his heels.

Rosalie was dressed, her arm still wrapped in its towel, her hair flying behind her as she ran into Lucas’s embrace.

“Oh, Lucas, it's terrible!” she wept, burying her face in his chest.

“What is? What's terrible? What's happened now?”

He was looking over her shoulder, searching for what had upset her, and when he saw nothing he tore her away to look at her.

“What is it, Rosalie?”

“It's my husband!” she babbled between sobs. “He's here! He found me!”

“Yer husband? Dontcha mean yer  _ ex _ -husband?”

She shook her head, miserable.

“Ain't divorced yet...I'm workin’ on it….but we're still married….”

Lucas was lost for words, but Zoe wasn't. Elbowing her brother out of the way, she confronted the crying woman.

“Rosalie, I think ya better start explainin’ yerself…..” she said grimly.


	19. Infraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Rosalie survive, or will she die? Found out in this next installment of Accept Her Gift!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't do spoilers.

“Guys, it ain't what you think…..”

Rosalie was wringing her hands and looked utterly wretched, but Zoe couldn't allow herself to be too soft on her. Although she wanted to be sympathetic, Lucas was standing off to one side with a dazed expression on his face, and he looked hurt and so  _ human  _ at that moment, it pulled at Zoe's heartstrings.

Rosalie’s bombshell had knocked the words straight out of her brother's mouth, and he needed her to speak up for him.

“If it ain't what we think, you better tell us what it is,” said Zoe, trying not to be too grim. “You been leadin’ my brother on?”

“No! Gawsh, I wouldn't do that! Not to Lucas….not to  _ anybody _ , but especially not to Lucas.”

She cast a yearning glance toward him, but he was incapable of response, staring at her with a look of betrayal that was surely destroying her.

“Look, I may not have told the whole truth, but I ain't lied. Not outright. We may still be married, but it's over as far as I'm concerned. I've left him for good.”

She sighed.

“He's a bad man. I don't think any o’ you can quite understand how bad. He's cruel an’ ruthless an’ powerful. He's been awful to me over the years - violent - but that ain't the worst. Just recently, I found out how he's been makin’ his money: Trafficking young girls for the sex trade. Him an’ his  _ business associates _ …..”

She trailed off helplessly, looking at the floor.

“He's been doin’ it a long time. Stupid me, I never realised. Believed evetythin’ he told me an’ was too scared to question him. When I found out, he threatened me - told me if I didn't keep my mouth shut, he'd sell me off to some brothel in Holland or someplace. When Lucas finally asked me to come here, I just took off. Left while I could. Didn't ever think he'd find me here, but he's out there now.…..”

From the corner of her eye, Zoe saw Lucas straighten.

“Well, if that's all the problem is, reckon it's easily sorted out,” he said. “Holy fuck, Rosalie, you sure scared the shit outta me for a minute!”

“What are you gonna do, Lucas?” asked Rosalie in a terrified voice.

“Gonna go out there an’ deal with him.”

“Oh, Lord, no! Don't do that, Lucas! You don't understand! He's a dangerous man!”

Lucas laughed, his good mood restored.

“So am I, Rosalie! So am I.”

 

Lucas was off, trotting down the stairs with a spring in his step and a smile on his face. Still barefoot and shirtless with no weapon, he looked cheerful as he set off to confront his lover's husband.

Zoe turned to Mia.

“We gotta stop him!” she said urgently.

“Why?”

Mia was curt, her expression stony.

“Wh-what?”

“Why should we stop him?”

“Why, he'll  _ kill  _ that man!”

“And?”

Zoe floundered, deciding to appeal to Rosalie.

“We have to stop Lucas!” she said.

“I know! Bryce is gonna kill him!”

“Uh, no. That ain't gonna happen.”

“But you don't know what Bryce is like!”

Rosalie was already off, following Lucas, shoes tip-tapping on the stairs.

“Hold up, Rosalie!”

Zoe gave chase, Mia close behind.

“You don't know what Lucas is like!”

 

The house seemed to be deserted, the three women encountering neither of the Baker parents nor Eveline as they ran to the front door. Zoe had time to wonder where they all were, but no time to dwell on it.

The front doors stood open, framing Lucas’s back as he sauntered down the front steps at an easy amble. Rosalie made as if to follow, but seemed to quail at the sight of her husband leaning on his parked car and fell back against Zoe, her body quaking.

“I can't face him!” she moaned. “He looks at me once, I'll just do whatever he says. I won't be able to help it….”

Zoe passed Rosalie back into Mia’s care and strode out onto the porch. The scene before her was like some kind of high noon gunfight, the two men facing each other off at a distance across the path.

Bryce was a big man, powerfully built, immaculately dressed. He was studying Lucas like he was a speck of something on a slide under a microscope - possibly some kind of fecal sample. Lucas had his thumbs hooked into his pockets, his entire posture relaxed.

“Can I help you at all, sir?” he asked with exaggerated politeness.

“Happen you can,” rumbled the big man, drawing himself up taller and puffing out his chest. “Came to fetch my wife.”

“An’ who might yer wife be?”

“Rosalie….”

Zoe heard a small yelp from inside at the mention of the name, and Bryce looked up into the maw of the open doors, squinting.

“Rosalie? That's yer wife? Yeah, she's here. Don't reckon she'll come with ya though. She's happy where she is.”

Bryce sneered, looking the smaller man up and down.

“You must be Lucas.”

“I am.”

The big man laughed, a snorting, scornful sound.

“I imagined you'd be taller,” he said. “But it doesn't matter. Send her out, and we'll say no more about it.”

Lucas scratched his head, apparently considering the request.

“Naw,” he said eventually. “Ain't gonna do that. Like I said, Rosalie’s happy right here.”

Bryce sighed, producing a large folding knife from the pocket of his jacket and opening the blade, which he proceeded to use to clean his nails. Zoe almost laughed at the forced casualness of the gesture, clearly designed to intimidate but the clichéd staple of so many gangster movies.

“I'll tell you again, son: Send out my wife.”

“An’ I'll tell you again: No,” replied Lucas, his voice not rising in volume. “In fact, I'll go one better, an’ tell you to fuck off. How does that sound?”

Bryce glowered at him, plainly incredulous.

“You're telling  _ me  _ to fuck off? _ Me?” _

Lucas shrugged.

“Certainly seems like it.”

“You're a cocky little sonofabitch, I'll say that for you. Tell me, have you fucked my wife, son?”

Lucas cackled.

“Hell yeah! I literally been fuckin’ her constantly ever since she got here! It's been grand.”

“I thought so. That woman is in a world of trouble. Well, since you won't send her out, looks like I'm gonna have to go in there and get her.”

He glanced at Zoe, a small smile touching his lips.

“Pity I won't have time to stay and make the most of your hospitality. I'd enjoy getting to know this young lady better…..In fact, I might have a business proposal for her.”

Safely behind the barrier of Lucas, Zoe gave him the finger.

Bryce hauled himself away from the car and began to walk towards the porch.

“Don't try and stop me, son. It'll go badly for you if you do.”

Lucas took his hands from his pockets.

“I would suggest you get back in yer car an’ go home,” he said. “But I guess it's too late for that now.”

Rosalie’s husband laughed again, but there was an uneasiness to it. Zoe could imagine the disquiet seeping into his self assurance at the sheer wrongness of this weak-looking skinny guy who just wouldn't back down.

Bryce lifted his knife, regarding her brother with something that was beginning to look like fear, and within that split second Lucas had pounced.

 

Rosalie’s husband was big, but not too big for Lucas to handle - not now. Dumb asshole raising his little knife like it was gonna scare him….

The knife flew from Bryce’s grasp and landed in the long grass as Lucas’s momentum bowled him over, the shock on his face reflecting how unexpected the attack was. He was on his back, squealing like the little pig he was, eyes so wide Lucas could see himself reflected - could see the white gleam of his grin stretching over his face.

He socked his knee into the bigger man's crotch, watching the guy jerk under him like he was being fucked. The comparison pulled the smile from Lucas’s face like it had been painted on a duct tape gag and peeled off. This man had fucked Rosalie - had fucked her who knows how many times. He didn't deserve her.

“You liked to hurt her, huh?” said Lucas, but he didn't want a reply even though the man's tongue flapped in his mouth like a piece of raw liver trying to respond. “Well, how's it feel to be on the other side?”

Bryce’s hands squirmed up, curling around Lucas’s throat, squeezing.

“Fuck off!” yelled Bryce, face red as he tried to choke him.

Lucas laughed. It felt like a little baby's hands touching his throat.

Bryce shook with effort, cords standing out on his neck, biceps bulging through the expensive jacket, but he may as well have been attempting to throttle a tree.

Lucas leaned down, folding Bryce’s arms beneath him, spitting into his open mouth.

“Fuckin’ pussy…..” he hissed. “Fuckin’ weak ass lil pussy boy. You ain't a man. Just a limp dick cocksuckin’ asshole….”

Bitey reared up, slavering, back from his vacation in the back of Lucas's mind. He'd been drooling at the sight of that red, wet tongue lolling around, and Lucas let him have it - let him dive down and snag it between his teeth, shaking his head from side to side as he tore a chunk off, taking a good portion of Bryce’s pouty bottom lip.

Bryce shrieked, blood running down into his throat, making him splutter.

Bitey spat the lumps of meat out. He didn't want to keep them - didn't want any part of the man, only wanted to  _ shred _ .

Lucas heard his name being called somewhere off in the distance, on another planet. It sounded like Zoe. It was unimportant.

Lucas saw himself in Bryce’s eyes again, his jaw drenched in blood, his teeth smeared with it. Those eyes were too bright, too shiny. He didn't deserve them either.

Lucas stuck his thumbs up like he was going to hitch a ride, then popped them neatly in Bryce’s sockets, blocking out the gleam. The slippery orbs felt slimy, and he pushed them in. Soft. They burst like grapes, pink tears weeping from them.

Bryce  _ screamed _ ….so loud. It hurt Lucas’s ears. Shut him up!

He extracted his thumbs and clenched his fist, aiming for the gaping scarlet hole of the mouth.

He didn't punch, but filled the gap, his balled hand forcing its way between the man's jaws, muffling the high pitched sound. Teeth caved inwards, unable to withstand the pressure.

Bryce managed to produce a stricken gargle that was immediately drowned out by the sharp crack of his jaw breaking, blood spilling from either side of his mouth as the flesh tore to create a ghastly grin.

_ “Lucas! Holy shit, stop it!” _

Zoe was there, grabbing his arm, tugging at it with little ineffectual yanks.

Lucas ignored her.

_ “Let ‘im, do it, Zoe!” _

Another voice, this one silvery sounding, pretty, and  _ this  _ one he could hear. This one brought him back. He cocked his head to listen.

_ “Are you fucking, kidding, Rosalie? Look what he's doin’!” _

Lucas looked. Bryce’s face was so colourful now - purple and blue, with splashes of red.

_ “I can see….an’ it needs to be done. Trust me. You let him go now, he won't never stop…..” _

_ “Rosalie, I know he hurt you, but this….” _

_ “You gotta trust me, Zoe. Let him fuckin ’ die!” _

Lucas heard her sob, his Rosalie crying, and looked back down at the man beneath him.

Slowly, he pushed his arm down further, Bryce’s head sinking into  the soft ground as he made him swallow his hand up to the wrist.

The throat bulged as he worked his way deeper, closing around his hand as if welcoming it. Kind of felt like a pussy, all wet and slippery.

Bryce hadn't made a noise for a while now, but Lucas kept pushing anyway, wanting to make sure.

“Lucas….you did it, baby….you can stop now….”

He felt soft hands on his shoulders and turned.

Rosalie’s face was pale, her green eyes made red by tears, but she was trying to smile.

“Stop it, Lucas. He's dead. Stop that.”

“Okay.”

Lucas yanked his fist free. Bryce’s mouth hung open unnaturally wide, his lower jaw gaping to expose the ruin of his mouth. His throat was wide, like a tunnel oozing blood. There was gore and spit nearly up to Lucas’s elbow.

“You alright, Rosalie?”

She nodded, but even as she did so she was staggering off to the edge of the yard, vomiting noisily into the bushes.

 

Back inside, Zoe wrapped Rosalie in a blanket. The woman was shaking from shock, her teeth rattling together.

She hadn't let Lucas near her yet, though he'd washed the gore off himself, and he loitered off to one side, his features drawn in confusion.

Seeing the expression on his face, Rosalie tried to smile.

“It's o-kay, Luc-as,” she stammered. “I ain't - mad at ya…..I j-just need a little - time….”

Mia looked grim, but she rubbed Rosalie’s arm comfortingly.

“I don't know what Rosalie thinks, but I for one think that the world is a better place without Bryce in it,” she said.

“Well, me too,” agreed Zoe. “But Jesus, Lucas! Did ya have to do it like  _ that _ ?”

Lucas shrugged.

“Didn't really think about it. Just did it,” he admitted. “Seemed appropriate.”

“That's why I'm so shook up,” said Rosalie, her shivering subsiding. “I knew he had to die, but the way ya did it made me feel  _ awful _ ….”

Lucas looked contrite.

“Sorry, Rosalie. Just got mad, I guess, thinkin’ ‘bout what he done to ya.”

“I know that, sweetie, but just gimme a little time to get my thoughts in order, ‘kay? It's kind o’ a shockin’ thing to witness…..”

Lucas hung his head.

Zoe and Mia exchanged meaningful glances.

“Might now be a good time to discuss what we talked about?” suggested Mia.

Zoe nodded.

“Go ahead. You say it.”

Rosalie looked at the pair of them, puzzled.

“When Zoe sent you that message trying to put you off coming, she was telling the truth …..” began Mia. “Lucas isn't right. Jack and Marguerite aren't right. Even me and Zoe aren't right. It really isn't safe to talk about this here and now, but if you come over to the trailer tonight, we can talk then. How about it?”

“Sure, that sounds fine,” said Rosalie, curious.

“We're gonna have ourselves a little party,” said Zoe. “It's essential that we get blind drunk.”

“Hell yeah!” said Lucas, finally cheering up. “‘bout time you had a good idea!”

 

They were alone, and Lucas felt cleansed by his rival’s death, all his bad feelings stuffed down the dead man's throat. It had felt good to end him, the way it had felt good to smash Brent Chambers’s head to a pulp all those years ago.

Rosalie still regarded him warily, and he wondered if she'd allow him to touch her.

He kept his distance for now, watching as her shaking slowly subsided.

“Sorry, Rosalie,” he said, for the sake of something to say.

She attempted a smile - weak and pallid in comparison to her usual warmth, but it was something. One of her hands appeared from under the blanket, palm held up invitingly, and he took it with a surge of gratitude.

“You don't gotta apologise,” said Rosalie. “Was ma own fault for encouraging you. But I knew if you didn't kill him, he'd just come back - with a fuckin’ army of thugs behind him.”

“What….”

Lucas hesitated. Rosalie raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“What sorta things did he do to ya?”

She frowned, his sweet girl, and he felt bad. Asking her something so personal felt more intimate than fucking.

She cleared her throat. The subject appeared to make her uncomfortable, but she spoke after a while, her voice small in the echoey bathroom.

“First time I tried to leave him, he kept me locked in a closet for a week, usin’ a bucket for a bathroom in the dark. Fed me from the trash. Was only a small closet. Near went crazy shut up in there. Said next time I tried it, it'd be two weeks, maybe with a broken bone or two. Let’s see, what else? Uh, one time I went shoppin’ without tellin’ him where I was goin’, an’ when I got back, he, uh, raped me with a broomhandle. Bled for three days after that, I recall. An’ sometimes, when he was fuckin’ me, he'd choke me - do it for longer and longer every time till I'd pass out.”

She gave a small, humourless laugh.

“Managed to get him to stop doin’ that by pretendin’ I liked it. He wouldn't do anythin’ that gave me pleasure. Said it was scandalous how much I enjoyed sex. He wanted me to hate it.”

Rosalie sighed, a huge gust of pent up breath.

“There's more, o’ course - got year's worth o’ abuse I could recount, but I don't wanna. I don't like to talk about it.”

A tear squeezed out of her eye and ran a slow path down one of her plump cheeks.

“And now I done made a murderer outta you,” she said. “Seems like I fuck up everythin’ I touch.”

Lucas shook his head.

“Uh, I wouldn't worry too much about that, Rosalie…..”

“But you killed a man cuz o’ me. Lucas, someone’s sure to find out! You’ll go to prison!”

Lucas held up his free hand, shutting off her protest.

“That ain't gonna happen. Can't really explain it right now, but you'll see. Don't you fret about it.”

He watched her carefully.

“Yer gonna have to trust me. Reckon you can do that?”

She nodded.

“I can do that. But, Lucas?”

“What?”

“Is it bad that I'm glad he's dead? Not for what he did to me, but for what he done to all those girls?”

“You ain't a bad person, Rosalie.  Me, on the other hand…..”

Lucas went quiet. He knew that Zoe had been speaking the truth. He knew he was going to have to give Rosalie up before she turned into a monster like he was. Trouble was, he didn't want to.

 

The raid on Jack’s liquor cabinet had gone well. Zoe still didn't know where her family had gotten to, but she was relieved her mission had been uninterrupted. She didn't want Eveline knowing about the booze.

As she lined the bottles up on the counter in her trailer, Mia solemnly dug out glasses, blowing the dust off them.

“This is going to be so fucking dangerous,” she muttered, wiping out the inside of a jelly glass with a paper towel. “If  _ She  _ gets one sniff of what we're doing……”

Mia shuddered.

“I know. But I can't have Rosalie’s death on my conscience as well. Hopefully it should be easier to convince her, now she's seen what Lucas can do. It's Lucas I'm worried about now. He always was a stubborn asshole.”

Mia put the mismatched glasses on the table.

“Well, we're ready.”

The back door slammed, signalling that Rosalie and Lucas were on their way.

“Here goes nothin’,” said Zoe.

 

Rosalie and Lucas had whiled away the hours in their usual fashion.

Lucas had attempted to impress upon her the importance of her not coming into contact with his spunk, but without any proper explanation she didn't understand his reluctance. She seemed keen to make up for the inconvenience of her husband’s intrusion, and Lucas didn't have it in him to deny her.

Sat in a straight-backed wooden chair in the master bedroom, tucked into the warmth of Rosalie’s sucking mouth, Lucas couldn't see the spot where Bryce had died, but he could picture the blood-slimed, flattened grass and relive the moment the bastard had stopped breathing. Bryce’s corpse was down in the basement now, feeding the mold, and whether he'd become one of the Molded or just rot remained to be seen.

Lucas hoped he'd turn. He wanted to have the satisfaction of knowing that Bryce was still around, bound to obey him, forever his subordinate.

Lucas groaned, partly because of what Rosalie was doing, and partly at the pleasure of imagining Molded Bryce stumbling around in the basement with the rest of the dumbass converteds, a mindless slave….

Rosalie’s hand was round the base of his cock, the other busy with his balls, and he sucked his breath in between clenched teeth as her golden head bobbed. She was noisy in her attention, slurping, making little noises in her throat that threatened to push him over the edge, but he knew he couldn't finish off in her mouth, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Hold up, Rosalie,” he gasped, trying to pry her off half-heartedly, but she clung on with the circle of her lips, tightening her grip.

“Nuh….c’mon now….y’know I can't…..”

He was getting too close for comfort. Rosalie tilted her head to meet his gaze with one green eye, twinkling up at him, the end of his cock sliding up into the pouch of her cheek. He could see it, pushing out the line of her face, her wet mouth opening, a glimpse of pink tongue swirling round.

He watched, fascinated at the contrast between the ugly, veiny shaft and the perfect, pretty little pucker of her lips, his willpower slowly unravelling.

“I  _ can't _ …..” he insisted, and she lifted her head, the length of his shiny cock sliding out, the air cold against it.

“What is  _ with _ you?” she sighed in exasperation. “At least lemme finish you off anyways. Huh?”

“How - ?” he began, but she was up, off the pillow that cushioned her knees, bent over her suitcase, rummaging.

Lucas sat awkwardly, his hard-on poking up like a meerkat.

“I remember somethin’ you said when we was still swappin’ messages,” she said. “Y’all apologised for it over an’ over, but I weren't offended. In fact, I came prepared….”

She turned back to him holding a plastic bottle of baby oil, smiling.

Lucas tried to cast his mind back at what he'd said. He vaguely remembered a conversation they'd had after she'd sent him the topless photo, when he'd let slip his thoughts on her generous cleavage…..He'd been embarrassed and ashamed, but had Rosalie been angry? He couldn't recall that she had.

With an impudent wink, Rosalie stripped off her dress and unhooked her bra.

Lucas had seen her naked over and over since she'd arrived, but the sight hadn't lost its appeal by any stretch, and his cock twitched as he watched her tits settle warmly against her ribcage.

“I know what you want, you bad boy,” she told him, and snapped open the lid of the baby oil.

She upended it, tilting the neck towards her breastbone, and a sheet of the glistening liquid poured out, running between her tits in a greasy channel, coating the round swells.

“Holy shit!” said Lucas hoarsely.

When there was a fair amount coating her, she put the bottle down, squooshing her tits together. A trickle of baby oil ran down her belly, collecting in her navel.

“Been wantin’ to do this since you mentioned it,” she confessed, advancing on him.

Lucas opened his knees as she sank back down on the cushion, gawking at her. She was rubbing the oil over herself, her fingers skidding over her skin, and his breath hitched in his throat as she leaned forward.

“Come on, now - in ya go!”

She pressed herself against him, his prick sliding into the slippery valley between her tits. Rosalie held them together, creating a cosy channel for him, and he put his hands on her shoulders to steady himself.

“You sure about this?” he asked, but he was already lifting his ass off the seat, watching the head of his cock appear under her face before sliding back down into the pillowy depths.

Rosalie giggled.

“That's it,” she urged. “Fuck those tiddies. I know you been dreamin’ about it…..ya told me….”

Lucas didn't reply - he couldn't. All his effort and attention was focused on the way her tits hugged his dick, the way it felt to stroke it back and forth in the greased tunnel. It wasn't as tight as her pussy, but the visual….goddam!

He thrust upwards, the tip chucking her under the chin, and she ducked down to kiss it. Fingers biting into her shoulders, he picked up his pace, chair legs hammering on the floor.

He'd been close to cumming before she oiled up, and it took a matter of seconds for him to get to the point he'd been before, the long muscles in his thighs straining as he humped his way to the finish.

“Oooh, Lucas...That's nice, honey...You enjoyin’ that? Cuz I am...Can feel you throbbin’..Just let it all out, huh? Let it go….”

Lucas grimaced as it all became too much, the tight-slicked sheath of her titties  _ squeezing  _ him to release. He grunted as he came, a wordless exclamation sent out into the dusty air, his hot jizz exploding from his balls to coat her chest and drip from her chin. She clenched her tits around him, hugging his dick tight in the cleft of her bosom, pressing the warm mounds together around his exploding cock like she was giving him a hug.

He was dimly aware of Rapey spilling obscenities from his own lips, but Rosalie didn't appear to care, tipping her head back to let his jizz spill over her face.

He was still spurting when his concern overcame his release, pulling back, grabbing at a rag to mop the spill from her skin.

“No...Rosalie, oh shit no….”

His poison was running over her, and he sought to remove it, wiping his spunk off her chin and chest with furious swipes as his cock still spasmed.

Rosalie leaned back, trying to escape the attention. White globs dripped off her, decorating her pretty face like frosting on a cake, but Lucas worked feverishly.

“Lucas! It's okay, I don't mind….”

“No! I don't wanna hurt you any more…..”

She went still, allowing him to clean her up, looking crestfallen.

“I don't understand…..”

“I can't let ya…” he muttered, dabbing a speck from beneath her lower lip. “I damaged you enough!”

Lucas met her stare, seeing her wet eyes blinking up at him.

“Fuck, Rosalie…..” he sighed. “I can't let it stay on you!”

She pouted, not arguing, but confused and upset nonetheless.

“I  _ told _ you….I don't wanna make it worse….”

He tossed the rag aside.

“If I make you sicker, don't reckon I'd ever forgive myself. Even fucked up as I am…..”

Rosalie’s face crumpled.

“How is it gonna do that, Lucas? Why can't we fuck? Don't you like me any more?”

“Of course I still like you! Jesus fuck, I think I might even love you. Just trust me, okay? You said you would.”

“But I'm gonna have to leave, Lucas! Ain't that right? I'm gonna have to go! An’ I don't wanna! I wanna stay here!”

“If you do, you'll die. I know that now. Don't make it any harder….” he begged.

She got to her feet, shrugging off his embrace.

“Can't make it harder than it already is,” she sniffed, turning away to put her bra back on.

“Found you after all this time, an’ now I gotta go again. It ain't fair, Lucas!”

“I know. It ain't.”

He watched her fumble for her dress, blinking back tears as she shrugged the straps onto her shoulders.

“Wish you could stay…..” he said.

“Well, that ain't gonna happen! So shut the fuck up, Lucas!”

Rosalie sobbed, struggling with her zip. He stood to help her, receiving an elbow to his ribs for his trouble, but then she sagged and allowed him to draw it up, sealing her into her clothes.

“I'm sorry,” he told her. “Really fuckin’ sorry…..”

“I know.”

She turned to him, putting her arms around his waist, and he pulled her in for a hug.

_ “Shoulda known you couldn't keep her,” _ remarked Snarky, revelling in his misery.

_ “Fuck off an’ die,” _ replied Lucas in his head, feeling Rosalie sob against him.

 

Zoe saw that Rosalie still had the blotches on her arms and they'd spread, an ugly dappling against her otherwise perfect skin. Her face looked a little puffy, too, but that could have been from crying - her eyes were red from it, her bottom lip still pulled into an unhappy pout. Lucas held her hand jealously, keeping her close to him. Zoe noted his attention to her with a pang - Rosalie'd be leaving soon, whether of her own volition or feet first, and she'd no doubt her brother was going to miss her something awful.

Lucas eyed Zoe and Mia suspiciously from outside the still-broken trailer door.

“We still on?” he asked, his fingers flexing restlessly in Rosalie’s hand.

“We sure are,” said Zoe with forced cheer. “Welcome to Zoe's Hillbilly Bar! All the drinks are free, but they come with a stipulation that you gotta drink a lot o’ them.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Rosalie’s face.

“Well, in that case, I'll have a shitload o’ rum,” she said, climbing the steps and eying the row of bottles. “With a fuckload o’ bourbon chasers.”

She had a red purse over her shoulder which she slung onto the seat, sliding in after it.

“Pour ‘em out, barkeep,” said Zoe to Mia. “An’ keep ‘em comin’.”

Mia unscrewed the lid of the rum bottle and poured a healthy slug into each glass solemnly.

“Let's get them down, people,” she said with a sigh, sliding two glasses towards the other side of the table.

Lucas picked one up and took a careful sip.

“C’mon, Lucas! You can do better than that!” taunted Rosalie goodnaturedly, picking up her own glass and draining half of it in one go.

Lucas raised his eyebrows as she smacked her lips. She nudged him in the ribs.

“One o’ my many talents,” she remarked. “Y’all better catch up.”

Bracing herself, Zoe took a huge swallow of the spicy liquor, feeling her throat attempt to close in self-defense, but she forced it down, gagging at the burn. At her elbow, Mia was taking a more cautious approach, wetting her lips with the syrupy liquid. She grimaced.

“Wish we had some Coke to go with this,” she commented.

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,” said Rosalie, swilling the rest of the rum down noisily. “So pucker up, buttercup.”

Zoe screwed up her eyes and her courage and followed suit, the heat suffusing her chest and describing a heated trail downwards.

“Fuck….” she wheezed. “Hurry, you two! We gotta get this done!”

They watched as Lucas and Mia finished their own drinks with varying degrees of difficulty.

“Line ‘em up again!” ordered Zoe.

Mia obliged, pouring the next round, being a little meaner with the measures this time.

Lucas picked up his glass, his eyes flicking between Mia and Zoe, his brow furrowed.

“What's the fuckin’ urgency?” he asked. “Why's it so important we get shitfaced?”

“Cuz Eveline can't get into yer head when you been drinkin’,” said Zoe. “An we got things to discuss we ain't gonna want her to know about.”

Lucas’s expression cleared as the realisation hit him.

“Yeah…..that makes sense…..” he said, and with a jerk of his wrist tossed back his shot.

“Yay! That's more like it, Lucas,” said Rosalie.

“Drink up, baby,” he urged. “Gotta do this quickly.”

Rosalie giggled.

“Why? I mean, I don't mind, but…..”

Zoe swallowed her shot and held her glass out to Mia for more. A faint buzz had already begun, just a pleasant warmth and fuzziness around the edges of her consciousness.

“Because Eveline can read minds - and more. Plus, she's dangerous.”

Rosalie’s nose wrinkled.

“Your little  _ sister _ ?”

“She ain't our sister - drink up Lucas, an’ get that fuckin’ look off yer face!” 

Zoe looked at Rosalie.

“Lucas is havin’ a little crisis of loyalty, here,” she said. “Hopefully, he gets enough o’ this shit in him, it won't bother him no more.”

Lucas glared at Zoe, but took another drink.

“Don't say bad shit about Eveline…..” he warned.

Zoe snorted.

“Right. She's a regular fuckin’ angel. Listen, Rosalie - Imma tell you what the fuck is goin’ on here, but only if Lucas can keep his goddam opinion to himself an’ keep drinkin’.”

Confused, Rosalie shot Lucas an inquiring look, but he only shook his head.

“Say what ya gotta stay,” he said, his voice roughened by the burn of the alcohol. “I ain't gonna interrupt.”

“Good,” said Zoe, and began.

 

She had help from Mia in the telling of her tale, but Lucas kept his word and made no contribution, although the sour look on his face remained most of the way through. It was only at the end his expression changed, to one of distress, as they spoke about the mold and Rosalie’s reaction to it.

There were some things Zoe kept to herself - they were too personal, and didn't make much difference to the narrative. Rosalie didn't need to know about Eveline’s attempt to breed her brother and herself, nor did she need to know about Fatima and Tyler and what went on in the basement. In fact, Zoe didn't tell Rosalie any of the more incriminating things. If she was going to be leaving, the less Rosalie knew about the abductions and murders, the better. 

Zoe debated telling her about Lucas’s monster form, which Lucas appeared to have no memory of, but eventually elected to keep that quiet too. She didn't feel right revealing her brother's darker side to that extent, especially with him sitting right there.

“The only thing I don't understand,” said Zoe, finishing up, “Is how you got infected. The mold was in the gravy, and you didn't have none o’ that.”

“Uh, I can answer that….” said Lucas.

It was the first time he'd spoken since she'd begun, and he was blushing.

They looked at him expectantly.

“Eveline told me. It's in me. Like, my bodily fluids. Blood, an’, y’know…..spunk…..”

Zoe’s face folded up in disgust.

“Eww! Lucas!”

“What?” he said defensively. “You wanted to know, an’ I told ya!”

“I know, but……”

“Don't fuckin’ ask questions ya don't wanna know the answers to,” said Lucas, trying to sound wise even as he spilled his drink down his shirt front.

Rosalie was sitting, wide-eyed from the revelations.

“I understand now,” she said. “Up in the bedroom, when you - “

“Yeah, ssh, ssh, okay!” said Lucas hurriedly, interrupting her. “They don't gotta know about that!”

Rosalie frowned, sinking another drink with ease.

“It all sounds so farfetched, though…..” she said, holding out her glass. “I mean - a bioweapon?  _ Mind control?  _ It's like somethin’ out o’ a horror movie or a videogame……”

“I know how weird it sounds,” said Mia. “But trust me, it's true.”

Rosalie studied her critically.

“Your company was playin’ God…..” she said. “All the fuckin’ problems we've made in the world - fuckin’ guns an’ bombs an’ landmines blowin’ little kids’ legs off - an’ you hadta make somethin’ even  _ worse _ . Why?”

Mia looked at the table top.

“I don't know,” she said. “Human nature, I guess. We gotta be clever, better than everyone else, come out on top. I know this whole situation is fucked up, but knowing how bad Eveline has made things for this one family….I'm almost glad we got shipwrecked and ended up here. Before she could fuck up the whole world.”

She glanced up at Zoe.

“I'm sorry, Zoe. I know this is your family, but it's better this way I think.”

Zoe was unable to answer. Deep down she knew Mia was right - that it was preferable that Eveline ruined only a handful of lives - but it didn't make her nightmare any less tortuous.

“It ain't fair,” said Rosalie quietly. “I wanted to be with Lucas. Get away from that bastard and be with someone who'd appreciate me an’ not be mean to me. An’ what happens? I end up in the midst of all this bullshit!”

“Rosalie…..”

Lucas tried to put his arm around her, but she shrugged it off.

“No! Don't hug me, Lucas! It ain't gonna change anythin’! I have to leave, don't I?”

She looked around wildly.

“Don't I?”

“Depends on whether you want to die or not,” said Mia.

Rosalie glared at her, a little bit of fire coming to the surface.

“It ain't funny! O’ course I don't wanna die. Don't mean I wanna leave though! I wanna stay, goddammit, but I can't! Fuck it. Gimme another drink.”

She held out her glass, accepting the last dregs of the bottle from Mia whilst shooting poison with her eyes. Mia had the grace to look ashamed.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “But at least you  _ can  _ leave. You haven't got enough of the infection in you. You can go. We're stuck here, unless we can make the serum.”

Lucas snorted in disgust, regarding her blearily.

“Fuckin’ serum….” he spat. “Beats me why ya wanna. Just fuckin’ accept it!”

“Accept her gift? Fuck you, Lucas!” snarled Zoe. “It ain't a gift if it's forced on ya!”

She turned to Rosalie.

“Would you accept it, if it wouldn't kill ya to do it? Would you? Fuckin’ tell my brother here!”

Rosalie faltered.

“I honestly don't know…..” she said. “If it meant I could stay with Lucas, maybe….”

Zoe stared at her, aghast.

“Even though it'd make you a monster?”

“Lucas ain't a monster!” protested Rosalie.

Zoe bit back her reply, even in her drunkenness not wanting to expose her brother's darkest side. She contented herself with pointing out something Rosalie had already witnessed.

“You saw what he did to Bryce. Ya think that's normal?”

Rosalie looked uncomfortable.

“Well, no, but…..”

“That was an extreme case,” said Zoe, trying to be gentle. “Lucas had a vested interest. But chances are, he coulda done that to  _ anyone _ , regardless o’ whether it was personal. An’ when Eveline’s got him….he can do worse. Trust me.”

Rosalie was silent, tears brimming unspilled in her eyes.

“Guess yer right,” she said. “Just don't wanna admit it cuz I got feelin’s for him….”

She turned her head to look at him unhappily.

Moved by the woman's distress, Mia leaned across the table and hesitantly touched Rosalie’s hand.

“For what it's worth,” she said. “Lucas has been a lot more….. _ human _ and a lot more sane since you got here. You've had an impact on him. And whether he'd hurt you or not under Eveline’s control, I know he wouldn't do it willingly.”

Rosalie smiled warmly at Mia, her antagonism forgotten, and squeezed her hand.

“Thanks. That means a lot.”

They were all silent, drinking. They'd started on the bourbon, the contrast between the two liquors shocking to their palates.

“So you're gonna leave?”

Zoe felt bad for pressing the point, but nobody appeared to be making a decision.

“Don't look like I got any choice,” said Rosalie.

Her face crumpled and she started to cry - big, noisy, ugly sobs that shook the table. Lucas knocked his glass over in his haste to put his arms around her.

“Don’ do tha’ Ros’lie…..please……”

Lucas was drunker than all of them, and as Zoe watched in horror he began to sniffle too, his head on Rosalie’s shoulder, face twisted in misery. Tears stung her own eyes but she rubbed them away impatiently - a maudlin-drunk sob-fest was the last thing they needed - but as she collected herself she heard Mia’s hitching breath beside her, followed by a subdued wail.

“Shit…..Come on guys, we can't do this! Ever’one stop, now!”

Lucas lifted his head and scrubbed at his face with his sleeve.

“Yeah, Ah know. We drunk nuff yet, Zoe?”

“Mebbe. Think you are anyways. We should prolly get Ros’lie goin’ ‘fore we go too far…..”

Blearily, Zoe tried to focus on Rosalie.

“Pull yerself together, hun. Time to go.”

Rosalie buried her face in her hands.

“I don't wanna! Don't make me!”

Lucas struggled to his feet, nearly knocking the table over in the process. His face was hard, but when he took Rosalie’s arm he was gentle, urging her to her feet.

“C’mon, baby….less go, huh? We can do this….”

Rosalie stood, swaying, looking round for her purse. Zoe leaned over and snagged the strap, hooking it over Rosalie’s shoulder.

“Yer gonna have to leave yer stuff behind…..too dangerous to go get it…..”

Rosalie nodded.

“I know. Got all the important stuff in here…..”

She patted the side of her purse.

“You want us to come with?” asked Mia.

Lucas shook his head.

“Imma take her to the road. Make sure she's safe. Y’all stay here.”

Zoe hugged Rosalie, her shoulder brushing the woman's damp face. Rosalie was still quivering with barely suppressed anguish, but she hugged her back.

“Bye, Rosalie. Wish we coulda met again under diff’rent circumstances…..”

“Me too, Zoe. Thanks for all yer help. Hope you an’ Mia are happy t’gether….”

Zoe was too drunk and too tired to correct her. And it didn't matter anymore anyway. The sweet girl was leaving their lives, hopefully forever.

Lucas took her hand, and together they disappeared into the night.

 

The air was mild, a cool breeze brushing past them as the moonlight lit their way. They cut through the bushes with unsteady steps, trying to be as swift as silent as possible, but Lucas stumbled, falling heavily against Rosalie’s arm.

She staggered under his weight, nearly knocked off her feet, but righted herself just in time.

“Sorry…..” he muttered. “Walkin’s  _ hard _ ….”

“That's okay, honey,” said Rosalie, brushing her lips briefly against his jaw. ‘Y’already swept me off my feet anyways…..”

Lucas groaned at her words, his feet faltering on the path. There was a pain in his chest that couldn't be physical and it nearly doubled him over.

“You okay, Lucas?”

Her face was a pale circle in the darkness, and he aimed a kiss at it, hitting the corner of her mouth. She giggled and turned her head, mouth opening, and for a second he tasted the boozy smoke of her tongue before forcing himself to pull away.

“Not here,” he murmured. “Gotta get further….”

They continued walking, entering the sheltered dankness of the swamp. The tree they'd knocked over when she'd arrived was up ahead, and Lucas steered them in that direction. Her breathing was high and rapid as she stumbled to keep up, so he slowed his pace.

Neither of them spoke, the gap between them heavy with their thoughts, but Lucas didn't dare voice any of his. His emotions were jumbled and confused, tangled and knotted like string, one second angry, the next full of despair. She was a weight on the end of his arm that shouldn't be there, but he would gladly have tethered her to him for the rest of his life if he could.

It was too dark to see clearly, even with his enhanced vision, but he could have made his way through the bayou blindfolded, he knew them so well.

To their left, he heard the hiss of a gator, and Rosalie clutched his hand tighter in terror.

“S’okay,” said Lucas. “They won't bother us.”

A decreasing slither in the undergrowth confirmed his statement as the gator made its escape, sensing Lucas’s unnaturalness and not liking it.

The undergrowth thinned as they reached a wider path, the light from the swollen moon finally touching them again, and even though their way was clearer, they moved closer together. Lucas released her hand and slipped it round her waist instead, caressing the curve of her hip, memorising it. He felt her hand slip under his shirt, fingers touching the bare skin of his back, thumb hooking into his belt loop.

A wall of bushes stood before them - the final frontier. They stopped walking.

“This is it. End of the line,” said Lucas.

His words tasted bad, made him feel sick.

Rosalie turned to him.

“Where will you go?” he asked.

“To my parents. Imma tell ’em about Bryce - not that he's dead, but how he's been. They'll hide me. I'll start a new life.”

“You can't tell anyone ‘bout me,” said Lucas. 

Rosalie laughed, a sound entirely without humour.

“Nobody would believe me. But it don't matter. All your secrets are safe with me anyways.”

She fell into his arms with a sigh.

“Lucas, if you ever leave here, you come lookin’ for me, you hear?”

He nodded, his face in her hair, unable to speak. He wanted to squeeze her so hard she’d meld into him, become a part of him, forever sunk into his skin.

“I ain't never gonna forget you, Lucas,” said Rosalie earnestly, her tears wetting the side of his face.

_ She will _ , said Snarky, bobbing up to the surface of the poison lake that was his mind.  _ She'll meet someone else, get married again. She ain't gonna wait for a hick like you. _

As much as he hated it, Lucas knew Snarky was right. A girl like Rosalie would always be able to find someone. She'd be snapped up within a month.

He pictured her, naked, underneath another man, being bitten as she moaned, getting fucked rigid and loving it.

His arms tightened round her, teeth gritting. Thinking he was being affectionate, she hugged back harder.

Lucas turned his face till it rested against the vulnerable line of her throat, her quickened blood flowing past beneath his lips. He couldn't stand the thought of her with someone else.

_ Don't let her go, _ whispered Rapey.  _ You can keep her!  _

_ She'll die….. _ protested Lucas.

Rapey shrugged.

_ So? Least she won't go off an’ fuck some other guy. _

His alter drew in closer.

_ Kill her you fuckin’ idiot. Kill her now, ‘fore it's too late. Can bury her out here - have a nice little grave you can come visit an’ jerk off over. _

Lucas considered. It made a lot of sense.

_ Or….OR!  _ Rapey continued excitedly.  _ You can stuff her! Hollow her out, fill her with hay. Have yerself a fuckin’ Rosalie sex doll. Fuck her whenever you want! _

Lucas groaned. The idea made his cock twitch. He opened his jaws slowly, grazing her skin with his teeth.

“Ooh…” 

Rosalie shifted against him, her thigh brushing his crotch. He was hardening fast, and the pressure made him grunt.

“One last time, Lucas?” she asked hopefully.

He bit into her neck, teeth bruising her.

“Ow!”

She wriggled in the rigid circle of his arms, trying to pull away but he held her tighter, closing his teeth.

“Lucas!”

Rosalie brought her hands round, pushing against his chest, and in his drunkenness her struggles knocked him off his feet, dislodging his grip on her neck at the same time. She fell backward, taking him with her.

Her back hit the ground, huffing the breath from her lungs, Lucas landing on her softness and sinking in. Dazed, she tried to lift her head, but Lucas’s hand was at her throat, holding her down.

She froze, not daring to move. He wasn't squeezing, but his fingers were tight enough that she was held immobile. He leaned down, breath hot on her lips, staring at her from inches away.

Rosalie swallowed, her adam's apple bobbing against his palm.

“Don't do that, Lucas. Was what Bryce used to do, remember?”

Lucas snatched his hand away as if scalded.

“I don't wanna let you go…..”

She reached up to touch his face, found it wet.

“I know, baby.”

His dick rubbed against the crotch of her panties, crushing her soft pussy. He could feel her heat soaking through the denim of his jeans.

Rosalie laid her hand on the back of his head, pressed his face to the side of her neck. He ran his tongue over the deep ridges of the imprint of his teeth, making her shudder.

_ Ain't too late, _ observed Rapey.

Lucas nodded, his hands going between him and Rosalie to undo his fly. His cock dragged against the inside of her thigh briefly before he pulled the gusset of her panties aside with one finger and thrust into her, his knees scraping the dirt.

Again, he bit down on the delectable flesh, her squeaks of pain and enjoyment mingling as he began to fuck her hard and fast. She wrapped her legs round him, whimpering as his teeth broke her skin, the bright copper of her blood stinging his throat. A high pitched squeal, music to his ears, was ripped from her as her legs tightened around him helplessly. He lifted his head, licking the blood from his lips, rearing up to drive himself deeper into her. The blood on her neck looked black in the moonlight. She went limp beneath him, and just as he was about to cum, he withdrew, spending himself over her thighs instead.

There was silence, apart from the hurried panting heaving his chest.

 

Rosalie sighed, shifting beneath him.

“I love you, Lucas.”

He leaned down to kiss her.

“Love you too, Rosalie.”

He helped her to her feet, tucking himself back into his pants.

She giggled breathlessly.

“For a minute there, I thought you was gonna - “

She broke off, touching the side of her neck. The blood was a mere trickle, and she wiped it off with her fingers.

“I wouldn't do that to you, Rosalie.”

She kissed him again. 

“I'm in you, now,” she said. “Maybe I'll infect you, huh?”

“That would be fuckin’ awesome……” he admitted.

They turned back to face the wall of bushes.

“You go through there, follow the trail, you'll come out on a dirt road. Can follow it into town. Don't hitch no ride, though!” he cautioned. “Too many fuckin’ weirdos out there…..”

“I won't. Goodbye, Lucas.”

She squeezed his hand one last time, and disappeared into the greenery, swallowed by the leaves.

“Bye,” said Lucas to himself, and began to trudge back towards the house, his head down.

 

Zoe was facedown on the table, trying to summon the energy to roll over and go to bed. Mia had already passed out, slumped against the trailer wall, ragged snores vibrating the air.

“Zoe!”

An intrusive voice; annoying. She kept her eyes shut, hoping it would go away.

_ “Zoe!” _

It was louder now, shrill. She couldn't blot it out. With a heartfelt sigh, she lifted her head.

Eveline stood by the trailer door, looking furious.

“What's going on? Where are Lucas and Rosalie?” she demanded.

Zoe shrugged, the movement causing her head to ache.

“Dunno….” she mumbled. “Went for a walk, I think…..”

“I can't  _ see _ him,” said Eveline, and for a moment Zoe felt a gratifying surge of satisfaction at the tone of the child's voice.

She sounded frantic - panicked, even.

“You've been drinking!” snarled Eveline.

“Duh….” said Zoe, sniggering.

“Has Lucas been drinking too? Is that why I can't see him?”

Zoe didn't answer, laying her head back on the table. It felt cool and nice.

Eveline shrieked in frustration, knocking glasses onto the floor where they shattered.

There was a noise from outside and the trailer door opened, the night air wafting in and bringing a dishevelled Lucas with it.

“Lucas! Where's Rosalie?”

Curious, Zoe cracked an eye open.

Lucas stared at Eveline, his face unreadable.

“She's dead…..” he said, voice dull.

_ “What?” _

“Tried to escape. Musta found somethin’. I tried to stop her, but in the end… I had to kill her.”

He turned, the soles of his sneakers scraping the steps.

“Don't wanna talk ‘bout it, Eveline. Don't wanna talk…..”

Eveline trailed after him, almost bouncing with rage.

“You're going to pay for this, Lucas! I'm so mad at you! You're going to pay!”

Zoe watched them go with one half-lidded eye. She should be concerned, she realised, but she couldn't quite manage - not yet.

She saw Lucas wave an unsteady, dismissive hand at the angry child.

“Whatever, Eveline. Do it tomorrow…..”

They vanished into the darkness.


	20. Informant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas comes clean and everybody suffers for it.

Zoe had a blissful couple of seconds when she woke up in which everything was okay, but as consciousness approached with inexorable finality, everything came flooding back, bringing a headache and nausea with it.

She groaned, unable to deal with the physical effects of a hangover on top of the welter of emotions sweeping through her.

The main component was dread, seeping through her chest like the burn of the alcohol from the previous night, and as she cracked open her eyes, fighting against the pull of the sleep-goo in her lashes, she saw the bright, jagged glitter of broken glass over the floor of the trailer.

“Shit….”

She sat up, peeling her face from the table where she'd evidently passed out last night. Turning her head on her stiff neck, she saw Mia, folded up awkwardly in the corner, her head at a painful looking angle, mouth hanging open.

“Fuck….”

Zoe scrubbed drool from her cheek, wincing at the acid taste in her mouth, her tongue lying dry in her bottom jaw like a piece of jerky.

She needed water - lots of it.

Glass crunched underfoot as she staggered over to her fridge, wrenching it open and seizing the jug of water she kept in there gratefully, chugging half of it in one go. Bliss. She panted, bent over with one hand on the counter, fighting the wave of queasiness that roiled in her belly.

Eveline had been mad. More than mad - absolutely furious. Consumed with rage. Lucas was sure to be the focus of the child's temper, but would there be room for Zoe and Mia in her juvenile revenge? She thought there probably would.

She thought about cleaning up the glass, but she was too tired, instead staggering over to her bed and flinging herself on it. Mia shifted uneasily in her corner, making a snorting sound as she tried to turn in her cramped surroundings, but she didn't wake up.

Trying not to dwell on what the day might have in store for her, Zoe went back to sleep.

 

The trailer shook as the door swung open, pushed in from the outside with a force that nearly splintered it.

“Wake up, ya schemin’ pair o’ bitches!”

Marguerite’s voice, shrill and full of ire, split the slumbering air, accompanied by the shatter of more glass. Empty bottles exploded against the walls, full ones toppled, breaking into pieces and spilling their contents on the floor.

Mia shrieked in terror, jerked unceremoniously from her sleep, putting her arms over her head as shards of glass flew in her direction.

“Ya ruined everythin’!” screeched Marguerite. “The truth will out, an’ Eveline knows it all now, so get your useless asses in the house!  _ Now! _ ”

Mia was already out of her seat, headed for the door, her face twisted in panic, but Zoe was slower, struggling to roll off her bed without landing on the glass that now formed a second carpet over the threadbare one she already had.

“Move!” yelled Marguerite, grabbing her arm and yanking her forward.

Zoe gagged at the smell of the spilled booze, tripping over her own feet, but even as she dry-heaved her mind was reeling at the sight of her mother.

Marguerite had been standing by the door, yet she'd reached her arm over distance that should have been too far. Marguerite’s limbs were longer, Zoe realised, monstrously so, and her heels dug into the floor on reflex, not wanting to take her any nearer the things wearing her mother like a dress. Her face was distorted, lumpy looking; the sway of the hive beneath her skirt more pronounced than ever.

The woman's mouth opened, foul air wafting from it, smelling like damp wood and rot. Antennae waved deep in her throat.

“No, Momma, not the centipedes!” screamed Zoe. “I'm comin’, I'm comin’!”

Marguerite swung her through the door, momentum skittering her down the steps, and Zoe tumbled onto the grass. She could hear her mother exiting the trailer, and Zoe began to scramble across the yard on all fours, not wanting the horror behind her to touch her again.

“Get the fuck up!” ordered Marguerite, dealing her a numbing kick to her ass, sending her crashing down onto her face. Zoe crawled, commando style, trying to get her feet underneath her.

Up ahead, Mia was disappearing through the back door, and her father's voice rumbled through the house, raised in anger.

Fingers biting into the dirt, Zoe pushed herself to her feet, weeping with terror.

“What's gonna happen, Momma?”

“That's up to Eveline,” sneered Marguerite. “Now stop that pathetic fuckin’ whinin’ an’ get in there to face the music!”

 

Eveline held court in the main hall, her subjects around her. She was seated in a wooden chair, face imperious, as she regarded the reasons for her displeasure.

Lucas was on his knees before her, inches from the toes of her boots.

Zoe looked him over. He didn't seem to have any physical damage - not yet - but she was sure that was to come.

He had his head down, either unable or unwilling to meet Eveline’s gaze, his entire demeanour one of defeat.

“Good. You're here,” said Eveline. “Sit down. Lucas is about to tell us everything.”

Marguerite closed the back door, cutting off their escape, but neither of them would have dared try. Jack stood with his back to the double doors, arms folded across his chest, face grim.

Mia pulled up a chair with shaking hands, perching uncomfortably on the edge of it, and Zoe followed suit. Eveline waited patiently for them to settle, her expression stern.

She must have waited, Zoe thought - waited all night for Lucas to sober up enough that she could control him. How mad did that make her? she wondered. Having to hold off her punishment, stifle her anger till the right moment?

Letting her glare rest on both of them for a painful couple of seconds, Eveline turned her attention back to Lucas. He was still wearing his smart clothes - the ones chosen to make him look respectable for Rosalie, although they were far more dishevelled now.

“Okay, Lucas. You're going to tell us what really happened last night. Did you kill Rosalie?”

“No,” said Lucas.

“So you lied to me last night?”

“Yeah.”

“Where is Rosalie now?”

Lucas shrugged, still not raising his head.

“Could be anywhere by now,” he said.

“Did you try and stop her from leaving?”

Lucas shook his head.

“Huh. Did you help her escape?”

He nodded.

“Did you get drunk so I couldn't find out what you were doing?”

“Yeah.”

“Was that your idea?”

“Naw. Was Zoe's. An’ Mia’s.”

“I see. So they helped?”

“Uh-huh.”

Eveline looked across at the two women, her lip curling, but Zoe thought Eveline had probably known about their involvement all along. This was just for show.

“I understand,” said Eveline, her voice cold. “You were all in this together. All against me. Trying to make me look stupid.”

“It wasn't like that, Eveline - “ began Mia, but Eveline cut her off.

“Shut up! I didn't say you could speak!”

Her small hands were clenched into fists.

“I could have expected it from  _ Zoe _ ,” she sneered, voice full of contempt as she said her name. “But  _ you  _ Mommy? I'm not mad. Just disappointed….”

It was a lie, though - Eveline was undoubtedly mad. Plenty mad.

“And you, Lucas….”

Lucas cringed, his shoulders pulling up, but still he didn't look at her.

“I expected better from you. I never thought you'd do this to me.”

“She was gonna die, Eveline….” moaned Lucas. “She couldn't take the mold. She was allergic. It would o’ killed her!”

“So?”

The uncaring tone of her voice finally caused him to raise his head.

“But…..”

“If she was going to die, she should have died,” said Eveline with a shrug. “Not been let out into the world to tell our secrets. Nobody leaves. Do you understand, Lucas? Nobody!”

“But…..it was  _ Rosalie _ ….” protested Lucas.

Eveline put her head on one side, studying his face critically.

“Did you love her?”

Lucas shrugged.

“Think maybe I was gettin’ there…..” he said.

“More than me?” asked Eveline.

Lucas stared at her.

“Did Rosalie give you special powers?” asked Eveline. “Did she give you the ability to heal? Did she give you a new life?”

Lucas shook his head uncertainly.

“Then why was Rosalie more important than me?” demanded Eveline.

Unable to reply, Lucas hung his head again.

“You let me down, Lucas. You betrayed me. I don't think I like you much any more….”

Lucas’s head snapped up.

“What? Eveline, no! Please! I'm sorry!”

Eveline was shaking her head, her face sad, but Zoe didn't miss the little gleam in the child's eye. She was enjoying this. It was all part of the punishment, flexing her torture muscles.

“Gimme another chance, huh?” begged Lucas.

“I don't know,” said Eveline, sighing. “I don't feel like I can trust you any more.”

“Please!”

Lucas dared to lean forward and grab a handful of her dress, clutching it till his knuckles went white.

“Eveline….don't give up on me now….I need ya….”

Zoe winced at the pain in his voice - it broke, spilling tears down his cheeks.

“She's gone….” he whimpered. “Don't know if I can take it! Help me...make it go away…..”

Eveline softened slightly, taking his face between her hands. He gazed up at her wretchedly, and something in his anguished expression must have pleased her, as she smiled. It was a smug grin, full of self satisfaction.

“Maybe…..I'll give you a second chance,” she pondered, and he nodded vigorously, face pinched between her palms.

“Yes...yes!”

“But you have to be good, Lucas. Make me trust you again. You understand?”

“Uh-huh. Anything you say Eveline.”

“And you have to realise that nobody else matters, except me. Nobody. You don't need anyone else but me, Lucas…..”

Lucas stared up into her eyes.

“I know….” he murmured.

“Good. I'm going to have to punish you though, Lucas. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. I get it. I been bad. I deserve it. Do whatever you want.”

“I will. I love you, Lucas.”

Lucas’s shoulders shook as he sobbed in gratitude.

“I love you too Eveline….”

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

“Ok, Lucas. We can work through this. But I still have to punish Zoe and Mia.”

She released him and transferred her attention to the two women.

“Hmm. What would be a fitting punishment for you two?”

She sat back in her seat, Lucas slumping forward to rest his head on her knees. He hugged her legs, weeping into her dress.

Mia was twitching next to Zoe, clasping her hands, shuddering.

“Please, Eveline….” she moaned. “I'm sorry….don't be mad….”

Eveline petted Lucas’s head, condescending. Other villains had a fluffy white cat to stroke: Eveline had her scruffy attack dog.

“I have the best idea!” she announced. “It's perfect. You and Zoe have become good friends, haven't you, Mommy?”

Mia nodded cautiously.

“Well it's about time we put that friendship to the test.”

Eveline smiled at Zoe.

“You remember what Mommy can can do, can't you Zoe?”

Zoe felt her heart clench in terror as Mia emitted a strangled noise next to her. Legs shaking, she tried to stand, but Eveline shook her head.

“Oh no you don't!”

Mia screamed, a harsh, nearly prehistoric noise ripped from her throat, and Zoe turned her head to see the woman tilt her head back at an unnatural angle, gripping the arms of her chair, twisting in her seat.

“No…..”

Zoe threw herself sideways, her legs not working, the chair tilting and tipping her onto the floor. Mia was standing now, hair falling into her face, but as she lurched towards her Zoe could see the twisted mask of herself that she wore, lips pulled back from her teeth in a snarl.

“Mia!” she screamed, trying to make a connection, appealing to the woman inside, but Mia cackled, seizing a vase from a side table and swinging it down towards her.

Zoe rolled to avoid it, hearing the solid ceramic explode as it swiped past her and hit a pillar. On her back, Zoe looked up at Mia advancing on her, clutching a sharp spear of the vase, brandishing it like a dagger.

“Eveline, please stop it!” screamed Zoe, pushing back with her feet, elbows scraping the floor.

Eveline was silent, watching the action unfold; even Lucas had turned his head to spectate, his face emotionless.

Mia fell on her, knees bruising her thighs, and lifted the spear of pottery, aiming at Zoe's face. Zoe held her arms up, crossed before her, warding her off. There was pain as the makeshift weapon sliced at the flesh of her forearms, Mia moving rapidly to deliver as much damage as possible.

Zoe tried to tip her off, but the woman was insanely strong, and determined to carry out her task. She fought past one of Zoe's arms, the point of the shard stabbing into Zoe's cheek, and Zoe tasted powdered clay as the tip penetrated her face, breaking off against her teeth.

The attack only took minutes, but to Zoe, struggling beneath her former friend, it seemed to take an eternity. By the time Eveline was done and had called Mia off, Zoe bore deep wounds on her arms and face, striping her cheeks like warpaint.

Eveline sat, Lucas at her feet, and nodded happily at what she'd done.

“There,” she said. “No more plotting. Mommy, you're not to talk to Zoe anymore. Zoe, if you're not going to join us, be alone. Stay in your trailer. Keep away from my family. If you change your mind, I'll be here. Until then, think yourself lucky I let you live…..”

Zoe climbed to her feet laboriously, her wounds throbbing. Mia sat on the floor, sobbing, her back to her, scared to even meet her gaze.

Stumbling, Zoe went back to her trailer beneath the contemptuous stares of the people who had once been her family.

 

Zoe cleared up the glass, sweeping the fragments up, picking specks from the carpet with her fingers. What was another nick compared to the damage she'd already taken?

She scrubbed the liquor up, heaving at the smell, finally vomiting into her toilet, knelt in the tiny cubicle.

The physical punishment in itself hadn't been all that bad - her wounds would heal after all. No, it was what it implied that really hurt: Isolation.

No more allies. No more friendships. No more trust. Zoe was truly on her own now.

At some point, there were voices outside, and Zoe cringed, knowing there was only a broken door standing between her and those monsters, but they had no interest in her now. She was nobody.

She looked through her window and saw Lucas headed for the swamp, walking before Eveline and Jack, no doubt to receive his punishment.

Jack carried ropes and chains slung around his shoulders, looped many times, large meat hooks fastened at the ends. Zoe shuddered.

When her father and Eveline returned an hour later, Lucas wasn't with them. She wondered what they'd done to her brother.

 

Though the cuts on her arms and face healed quickly, the hole in her cheek took longer. Zoe probed it with her tongue, unable to stop herself, wishing she had some of the green goop to quicken her recovery, but although there was plenty in the house, she dared not go in. She had no doubt that Eveline would police her presence a lot more strictly now.

When night fell, for want of anything better to do, Zoe grabbed her flashlight and went in search of Lucas.

 

She found him in a heavily wooded area, amongst the trees. Not at ground level - somewhere way overhead.

Stripped down to his shorts, he hung face down, suspended by a multitude of meat hooks that penetrated his skin, spreadeagled across a clearing.

Zoe shone the flashlight up into his face, and he scowled down at her.

“Fuck off, Zoe. I ain't allowed to talk to ya.”

“Jesus, Lucas!”

The beam of light played over his arms and legs. The hooks had pierced him brutally in numerous places, the skin healing around them, making them a part of him. Zoe shuddered. In some places they held him by thick wads of muscle, in others - his back particularly - they appeared to be hooked under bones for support. There was dried blood all over him.

“Let me help you,” said Zoe. “Lemme cut you down!”

“No!”

His response was harsh and vehement.

“I deserve this. Imma stay up here till Eveline says otherwise. Fuck off.”

“But Lucas….!”

“Fuck off, I said! You cut me down, I swear I'll bash yer fuckin’ skull in! Now get. Leave me alone.”

Zoe backed away, watching her hanging brother strung out like a living hammock, and disappeared back into the trees.

 

Days passed. Lucas hadn't returned.

Zoe watched Mia walk past the trailer, a covered tray in her hands.

It seems they had more guests.

She stuck her head out of the door and called out. She hadn't exchanged a word with anyone since the meeting in the main hall, and she was feeling lonely.

“Mia? Hey, Mia!”

Mia flinched, her back hunching at the sound of Zoe's voice, and though she stopped walking, she didn't turn to look.

“Mia, I just wanted to say, there's no hard feelin’s. I know you couldn't help it. You wanna maybe call in an’ talk after you done your chores?”

Mia’s shoulders twitched, her head shaking in an almost imperceptible negative, before she resumed walking, picking up her pace to get away from Zoe's incriminating presence faster.

Zoe shut herself back in her trailer. She hadn't really expected Mia to acknowledge her, she told herself. But if that was the case, why did she feel so betrayed?

 

Zoe's routine was uneasy - not even a routine at all, really - so she wasn't able to judge time accurately, but she thought it had been about a week since the Day of Reckoning.

It was nighttime, and her father and Eveline were walking past the trailer hand in hand, heading for the swamp. Jack carried a flaming torch, for light and possibly theatricality, making them look like peasants advancing on a monster's lair in a horror movie, when in reality they were the monsters.

Starved of any form of stimulation, Zoe followed at a cautious distance, feeling reckless. She thought it likely that they were going to retrieve Lucas.

She hadn't been to see him since the first night, even though her instincts cried out for her to rescue him, but he'd been so adamant she knew he wouldn't have allowed it, and possibly made good on his threat to demolish her head. She knew Eveline wouldn't let him die out there, but he had to have been suffering - even if it was only from boredom.

Sure enough, when she caught up with them, they were in the clearing, Jack standing off to one side, Eveline standing directly beneath Lucas, looking up at him. He appeared to be unconscious, his head hanging down limp, his arms stretched up behind him at a painful angle. The constant weight of his sagging body seemed to have elongated his arms and legs, but on closer inspection Zoe realised most if not all his joints had dislocated, stretching him like taffy.

“Lucas!”

Eveline’s little voice carried on the still night air, drifting up to the suspended man, and his head moved, rolling uncertainly on his neck.

“Evie? That you?”

Lucas’s voice sounded rough from disuse, but it was surprisingly happy too.

“Yes!” replied Eveline.

“Aww, thought I was dreamin’, but it really is you!”

He made a gravelly noise that could have been a laugh.

“We've come to fetch you down, Lucas. You've been up there long enough, and I think you've learned your lesson now, haven't you?”

“Bless you, Eveline. I sure have. Been real lonely out here…..”

His tone sounded different than usual, and Zoe thought it entirely possible that the mental strain of his isolation and the physical strain on his body had unhinged his mind even further. He sounded like he'd been waiting for a ride to turn up that was an hour late, but was pleasantly grateful it had finally arrived.

Eveline turned to Jack.

“Cut him down, Daddy Jack.”

Jack nodded wordlessly, thrusting the end of his torch into the soft earth. It cast a flickering glow over the surreal scene. He had a short hatchet in his belt - a lot smaller than the usual monstrous weapons he carried, and he advanced on the tree nearest Zoe, pulling the shaft out and hefting it one-handed. Zoe sank back into the shadows, watching as her father swung the axe in a short arc, parting the rope coiled around the tree with his first blow.

Up above, Lucas made a noise that could have been discomfort or relief, his left arm suddenly loosened, swinging down limp. It hung straight down, looking oddly long and thin, the meat hook still firmly embedded in the flesh of his wrist, rope trailing on the ground.

Jack ambled across the clearing to another tree and repeated the process, freeing Lucas’s right arm. Lucas now hung from his ankles, and from a set of four hooks that looked to be wedged under his ribs, chained together and linked to a single, thicker rope overhead.

Jack released Lucas’s legs, both dangling strengthlessly down, Lucas’s body swinging in a tight circle from his rib hooks. The rope that connected them seemed to be slung over a high branch and tethered off to one side, but Jack didn't bother to walk up and untie it, merely aimed off into the darkness and hurled the hatchet away from him. The spinning head reflected flashes of firelight from it before it disappeared into the shadows, but it had to have found its mark, as with a sickening plummet Lucas hurtled towards the ground and landed in an untidy heap.

Eveline crouched down by his head, caressing the bristles of his hair.

“There, there, Lucas. You're down now. We'll get you home. Momma Bear has been busy making a feast to welcome you back.”

Lucas tried to lift his head, gaining a couple of inches with his rubbery-looking neck before it crashed back onto the grass.

Eveline patted his shoulder.

“Daddy Jack, get the hooks out of him.”

Ever obedient, Jack strode over to where his son lay, crumpled and grimy and half-naked. He surveyed the task in hand before finally deciding to start on his hands, grasping the hook nearest him and attempting to extract it. Lucas’s healed skin didn't appear to want to relinquish its addition, and though Jack twisted and wiggled it, he was having a hard time getting it loose. With a grunt, he pinned Lucas’s forearm down with the sole of one boot and tried again.

Zoe retched silently in the bushes where she hid as Jack heaved the hook free, taking a fair amount of meat with it in the process, the metal squealing as it grated against the bones it was wedged between. Blood leaked from Lucas like an unholy stigmata, only to stop mere seconds later.

Jack travelled round his son methodically, ripping new holes, extracting the hooks with careless brutality. Lucas didn't make a sound until his father started on the rib hooks, and Zoe had to clamp her hands over her ears to blot out the helpless bleating and whimpering her brother emitted, more upsetting to her than the gristly ripping of flesh.

Once done, Jack strung the collection of gory hooks together and slung them over his shoulder.

“Get y’self dressed, son,” he rumbled. “Yer mother's waitin’.”

Lucas tried to stand, his legs spilling him back onto his face, arms collapsing beneath him, but Jack snagged him under an arm with his free hand and yanked him to his feet. Lucas’s joints made a crackling sound as they crunched back into place. Eveline held a bundle of clothes out to him, and Lucas accepted them unsteadily, favouring the child with an affectionate grin. She smiled back at him.

Lucas appeared to grow stronger as he dressed himself, nearly overbalancing as he donned his beige pants, but standing straight by the time he zipped his green LCS hoodie.

With a jerk of his arm, he swept his hood up over his head, extending his other hand for Eveline to take.

Hand in hand, they walked back to the house, Jack bringing up the rear with his hooks and chains and the flaming torch. As they passed the clump of bushes where Zoe crouched, Eveline turned her head to peer into the undergrowth, a triumphant smile on her face.

 

Zoe trudged back to her trailer.

Lucas’s behaviour made her feel uneasy - the way he accepted his punishment so casually, not to mention his bowing to Eveline’s reign so willingly. His new status, as obedient, uncomplaining servant didn't suit him at all. There was no antagonism to her control, no defiance. Zoe had never known him to be so agreeable. It seemed there was less and less of her brother inhabiting his body all the time.

He'd managed to hold on longer than their parents, retaining a portion of his personality, keeping a spark of his former rebellious spirit, but it seemed even that was dwindling rapidly.

Zoe had barely got inside the door before there was a noise from the house - the clatter of the back door opening and closing. Peering past the blanket she used as a curtain, Zoe saw Mia approaching - an occurrence she considered with cautious optimism. Was it possible she'd be allowed to fraternise after all?

Mia knocked, waiting on the steps. Her head was lowered as Zoe swung open the newly-fixed door, as if she didn't dare make eye contact.

“Mia! Come on in,” Zoe greeted her.

Mia shook her head.

“I can't. I'm just here to deliver a message.”

“Oh?”

Zoe’s heart sank. She supposed it had been an unlikely hope.

“Yeah. Eveline wants you over at the house. She says you don't have to join us for supper, but there's something she wants you to see.”

“Shit. Ok. When does she want me there?”

“Now.”

Mia turned and began to walk back towards the house without looking to see if Zoe was following.

Going over there, being with her family, was the last thing Zoe wanted, but she had enough sense to know that if she didn't comply things were likely to be very bad for her, so she jumped down the steps and hurried to catch the other woman up.

“Hey, Mia, you got any idea - “

Mia stopped dead, holding her hand up without turning.

“I'm not allowed to talk to you,” she said. “Please, don't get me into trouble.”

Zoe frowned.

“Well, I'm sorry, Mia.”

Mia’s head swivelled on her neck a tiny amount, bringing the line of her nose into view, although Zoe couldn't see her eyes.

“You don't know what it's been like over here…..” she whispered, before resuming her walking.

 

The family was gathered at the supper table, which had been laid in a parody of Marguerite’s previously fastidious housekeeping. Fat, dripping candle stood in saucers on the tabletop amidst serving dishes all but overflowing with slime-blackened offal. Flies landed on the exposed meat, sampling the delicacies, wading their six feet in the contaminated juices.

Zoe felt her gorge rise at the sight, combined with the thick smell of rot that hung in the murky air, and quickly put her hand over the lower half of her face. The thought of breathing in the miasma, absorbing it into her body with the stale air, made her want to puke.

Eveline, Jack and Lucas sat at the table as Marguerite bustled around. As she passed Lucas, slouching low in his seat, she put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed, clearly pleased to have her boy back. Lucas favoured her with a flat grin that didn't touch his glassy eyes.

Jack stared at Zoe, his face all but empty of expression, as Mia took her own seat.

Sat on a cushion to elevate her, Eveline smiled up at Zoe with deceptive cheerfulness.

“Ah, Zoe. Glad you could make it. Have a seat.”

She indicated a lone chair placed in the corner, and even though Zoe wasn't happy that whatever was going to occur was likely to be long enough to require sitting, she was at least glad she didn't have to sit at the table. She positioned herself carefully so that Mia’s back blocked most of the view.

“Lucas tells me you were going to cut him down,” said Eveline.

“Uh….”

There was little point in denying it, but Zoe was shocked at how easily Lucas had sold her out.

Eveline waved a dismissive hand.

“I know it's true, so don't bother,” she said.

She didn't sound too angry, but Zoe didn't trust the girl a bit.

“Luckily for you  _ and _ Lucas, he set you straight. He was up there for a reason - because  _ I  _ said so, and if you'd gotten him down I would have been really mad. He was being punished!”

Eveline glared at her. It might have been Zoe's imagination, or an effect of the flickering candle light, but the child looked subtly different. She wasn't sure what it was, but there was a certain maturity about her face now, the fullness of her cheeks thinner than before, her expressions more subtle.

Zoe slumped down under the frank stare.

“There's been too much misbehaviour round here,” said Eveline, almost primly. “Too much sneaking around. From now on I'm going to be watching more closely. All of you.”

She said  _ all _ but her eyes lingered on Mia and Zoe only.

“I know Lucas was bad to help Rosalie escape, but he wouldn't have done it without you putting the idea in his head. You  _ tempted  _ him,” said Eveline.

“Like Eve offerin’ Adam the forbidden fruit,” intoned Jack suddenly, his disapproving gaze swinging over to where Zoe sat.

By his side, Marguerite nodded solemnly.

“But Lucas has promised to behave from now on, haven't you Lucas?”

Lucas nodded, his expression unreadable, narrow face blank.

Eveline smiled at Zoe, the curl of her lips somehow sly, her eyes glittering as they reflected the kinetic light.

“And just so you understand what this means, I'm going to show you…..”

Zoe felt dread gathering in the pit of her stomach at the ominous words, gripping the sides of her seat to stop her hands from shaking.

Eveline turned to Jack.

“Go and fetch her,” she ordered.

Jack nodded, getting ponderously to his feet, and left the room via the double doors. His heavy footfalls resounded in the empty hallway, only going a little distance before halting, and the laundry room door was unlocked.

Almost immediately, sounds of a scuffle ensued, rapid scrapes and muffled shrieks which stopped abruptly, and Jack reappeared shortly carrying a struggling woman.

She was heavyset person, with long dark tangled hair, her face covered with dirt, her clothes filthy and torn. She was gagged with a scrap of cloth that looked as though it had been ripped from her own clothing, and her wide, horrified eyes peered over the top. There was a nasty bruise on her forehead, lumped and stained purple.

Her hands were bound in front of her, the bonds cruelly tight, biting into the flesh of her wrists, but her feet were free and she kicked and flailed desperately in Jack’s grip. He held her above the floor, barely rocked by the ferocity of her vain exertions.

Lucas glanced briefly over his shoulder, demonstrating little interest until Eveline directed his attention.

“Lucas, look!”

He sat up in his seat, turning as Jack brought the woman round into view. Lucas frowned, showing no recognition.

“It's Rosalie!” said Eveline with bright enthusiasm. “We found her and caught her and brought her back!”

Lucas’s face cleared at her words, his forehead smoothing out, his mouth opening in mild surprise.

“Rosalie?” he said to the woman.

Zoe was confused. She clearly wasn't Rosalie. She was older, for a start, her face lined and leathery from perhaps years of sleeping rough, her brown hair shot through with grey. As if echoing Zoe's thoughts, she shook her head frantically, wet eyes pleading with Lucas, mouth trying to form negatory words behind the gag.

Lucas got to his feet, mouth pulling into a grin.

“Shit, Rosalie!” he marvelled. “Can't believe yer back!”

He leaned forward, arms spread, and the woman squawked through the cloth, trying to pull away, Jack holding her firm.

Lucas planted a kiss on the dirty cheek, and the woman moaned in terror, pressing her eyes shut. His arms circled her waist, and Zoe saw his hand gather up a portion of her ass, squeezing the flesh hungrily. She sobbed, and Lucas laughed.

“Aw, c’mon Rosalie - no need to be shy in front o’ my folks….”

He leaned in again, greedy fingers scrabbling at the gag, eyes glinting with lechery. His skinny hips pushed forward, grinding his crotch against her.

“Stop, Lucas,” said Eveline, and he froze in place, fingertips still hooked under the cloth, still grasping his handful of quivering ass.

“She isn't here for a reunion. Let her go.”

Lucas immediately did as he was told, his disappointment plain but his obedience unwavering.

“You're going to show me how much you love me, Lucas,” said Eveline. “You do love me, don't you?”

“Oh, yeah,” breathed Lucas, face lighting up with an almost religious fervour. “Love ya a whole bunch!”

“Prove it, then,” said Eveline. “Kill Rosalie.”

Zoe heard a sharp intake of breath from Mia, who hunched further over, gripping the edge of the table. Eveline smiled at the reaction, glancing over at Zoe.

The woman in Jack’s clutches wasn't nearly as restrained with her response, clear screams filtering through her gag as she tossed her head back and forth, kicking at her captor.

Lucas faltered, staring at the woman Eveline had made him believe was Rosalie. His brow furrowed in consternation, lips pursing thoughtfully.

“Go on, Lucas,” urged Eveline. “I want to see. Zoe needs to see too.”

Lucas sighed.

“Ok, Eveline. If that what it takes….”

He turned to the table where a large carving knife lay, placed there, Zoe suspected, specifically for this purpose. He picked it up, holding it up to examine it in the dubious light, turning it back and forth. In this house full of grime, the blade was spotless, freshly sharpened, wickedly keen.

The woman was frantic now, jerking to and fro, shaking her head with desperation. Jack scowled at her efforts.

“Hold still, now,” he growled. “Thrashin’ around like a fish on a hook!”

Clearly impatient, he set her feet on the floor, holding her in place with one arm whilst his free hand snagged a hank of matted hair, pulling her head back viciously.

Lucas positioned himself in front of her, knife brandished in his fist, his expression full of regret.

“Fuck, Rosalie - sure am sorry I gotta do this….”

He reached up to touch her face tenderly, cupping the curve of her cheek, caressing it with his thumb. There was a splashing sound, accompanied by the sharp stench of urine, as the woman’s bladder released, leaking piss down her legs and onto the floor.

“I'll aways love you, Rosalie,” he said, and stabbed her.

Zoe bit down the scream that wanted to burst free, eyes blurred by the tears that sprang up. The woman Lucas thought was Rosalie gave a strangled shriek as the knife plunged into her belly up to the hilt, blood spurting over Lucas’s hand, staining the cuff of his hoodie.

“Sssh….it's okay….” soothed Lucas, genuine affection in his tone as he jerked the knife upward, ripping a deep, ragged gouge up towards her chest, jerking his arm in a sawing motion to aid its path.

Even with the gag in place, the screams were deafening, but the din was no hindrance to Lucas’s work. His progress was halted when he reached her breastbone, but undeterred, he tilted his hand down, angling the blade, stabbing upwards as he thrust, piercing the organs behind her ribs.

The woman made a gurgling sound, a deep red stain blossoming on the gag as her eyes rolled up into her head. Evidently determined to do the job properly, Lucas went deeper, the widening slit swallowing his hand, up to the wrist then further, burrowing up into her. He pushed against her as if they were fucking, leaning into the narrow space between them.

The woman shuddered, feet in their cracked shoes beating an uneven rhythm on the boards, splashing in the puddle of piss and blood she'd made, and then she sagged in Jack’s arms, going limp. 

They stood still for a moment, Lucas and the dead woman, pressed together in a morbid embrace. His hand was still on her face, and Lucas patted her cheek gently.

“There ya go,” he murmured with almost reverent compassion. “Weren't so bad, right, Rosalie?”

He leaned against her, kissing the blood-sodden strip of cloth over her lips, pressing his mouth into the gory fabric. Zoe saw his tongue flick out briefly, touching the gap, behind the gag, before he pulled back, blood smearing his lips like scarlet lipstick. He licked it off.

Lucas pulled his hand free with a sucking sound, the knife completely covered with blood and shreds of tissue. He deposited it on the table, absent-mindedly wiping his hand on his hoodie.

“Happy now, Eveline?” he asked, sitting back in his seat.

“Very happy. You did good, Lucas.”

He grinned.

“You women. Always wantin’ reassurance….” he said, shaking his head with good-natured exasperation.

Eveline looked at Zoe.

“Do you see now, Zoe? Do you understand?”

Zoe nodded, unable to speak.

“Good. You can go now.”

Zoe got to her feet, staggering on wobbly-weak legs as she exited the room.

“What shall we do with this?” she heard Jack say as she made her way along the corridor.

“Oh, just put her in the pantry for now,” said Marguerite. “You can butcher her later. It's time to eat now. Dig in, everyone!”

 

After vomiting in the bushes behind the trailer, Zoe went inside. She was weary, worn out by the relentless horror she'd witnessed that evening, and wanted only to sleep.

As she flung herself onto her bed, she tried to convince herself that it had all been a ruse - that Lucas hadn't really believed the idea that Eveline had implanted into his brain, that he'd seen through the ploy and was merely playing along, but she was unable to do so. She'd seen his eyes, seen the genuine resignation.

He thought he'd killed Rosalie.

 

She slept fitfully, dreams punctuating her slumbering mind in a jumble of images.

In one she saw her brother, stretched too tall, his arms snakey and squirming like tentacles, standing in the dissection room corner like Slenderman, watching her father. Jack was busy butchering a corpse, selecting prime cuts for her mother's cooking pot, the sightless, staring face on the slab blurring and shifting - Rosalie’s visage one moment, the homeless imposter’s the next. Fatima was there, crouched under the table, her face full of sadness.

“What are you doin’ here, Fatima. You're s’posed to be dead!” moaned Zoe, the crippling guilt present as always.

She was scared Fatima had come back for revenge, but the girl only smiled sorrowfully.

“I had to come back,” she said. “You have to remember!”

“What? What do I gotta remember?”

Zoe was wailing noisily, but neither Lucas nor Jack paid her any attention, and she wondered if that meant she was dead too.

Fatima opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment Jack powered up a bonesaw, and the high-pitched whine as it buzzed through the corpse’s joints drowned out whatever Fatima was saying.

“I can't hear you!” shouted Zoe over the din.

Fatima’s face was twisted in frustration.

“....der the….idge…..” Zoe heard. “...ath….im….”

Zoe leaned down, trying to read the girl's lips, but blood showered down inna curtain between them, obscuring her view.

“....ler!” shouted Fatima. “....his….”

Zoe shook her head. It was no use.

“Don't know what yer sayin’, Fatima….” she mourned.

Fatima poked her head out from under the table, blood gushing down over her face, giving her a crimson mask from which her eyes stood out, startlingly white. Her hand extended, stretching over the gap that separated them, and Zoe heard her father roar with anger, bringing the bonesaw down on Fatima’s head just as the woman's fingertips grazed Zoe's belly.

 

Zoe woke to the now-unfamiliar sound of her father's mower, and she lurched upright, wondering what the fuck was going on outside.

Looking through the window, she could see Jack riding around the garden, going round and round in aimless circles, his face blank. The ground beneath him had little grass, the mud from the rains having killed the roots as people trampled through the yard, but that didn't seem to deter him. Eveline sat on his lap, crowing and cheering as she rode.

Frowning, Zoe heaved herself out of bed, clutching the edge of the counter to steady herself as a wave of faintness overtook her. She'd eaten little yesterday, trying to save her dwindling provisions, and what she had managed to eat she'd thrown up in the bushes, so it made sense she was feeling weak.

She looked in her little fridge, not wanting any of the dried up food in there but knowing she had to eat, and as she reached for a solitary egg, her stomach lurched, and she put her hands on her knees, dry-heaving till the muscles in her abdomen ached.

She put her hand on her belly, rubbing at the soreness, and as she did so she remembered her dream: Fatima touching her belly, bathed in blood.

Was she ill? she wondered. Was that what Fatima had been trying to tell her? She'd been vomiting a lot recently - had she ingested some mold? Was she more infected?

For some reason, the thought didn't concern her, mostly because she didn't believe it was likely.

No, there was another thought, nagging at her mind, far more worrying.

When had she last had her period?

She had no access to sanitary products now, so she had to use rags, either discarding them afterwards or washing the things out for reuse. It was a messy business, and not something she would forget in a hurry. There had been no rags for a while - not since Fatima, she thought. Not since Tyler.

Zoe took a deep breath, her hand resting flat against her stomach.

It was possible that stress and poor nourishment had stopped her periods.

It was also entirely possible that she was pregnant.


	21. Intruder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe goes exploring and a stranger invades their world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written entirely on my phone, which changes my words without warning, so apologies if there are any questionable phrases within the text.

Zoe had given up on trying to eat for the time being, though her stomach growled its emptiness. Instead, she lay back on her bed, staring up at the cobweb-crossed ceiling, waiting for her nausea to subside.

Though her body was still, her mind raced, thoughts whizzing past at sickening speed. There was no way of getting her hands on a pregnancy test, so that wasn't an option. She would have to wait, she guessed, for more symptoms to occur, but without some kind of book or internet access she wasn't sure what those might be. Would there be something in the house? she wondered. Her family never threw anything away, and they had books of all kinds gathering dust in there. It was possible Marguerite had bought one whilst expecting Lucas, and old though it would be, it would still be handy.

Making a note on her mental checklist, Zoe filed away that thought for later.

Next, she had to consider what she would do if she  _ was _ pregnant. How the fuck would she cope without doctor's visits? Not to mention the constant danger she was in on a daily basis. And what if the baby was infected? And how would she deal with the birth?

Zoe moaned, putting her hands over her face.

She wished she could talk to her mother. There were many times she'd thought she'd experienced the worst in her new life only to be proved wrong, and  _ this…. _ this brought it home again, harder than ever. How happy would her pre-infection parents would have been to have a grandchild? How supportive would they have been? Zoe had no doubt there would have been recriminations at first, but ultimately they would have been happy.

Lost for a moment, taking a thought-path she knew she should avoid, Zoe imagined how it could have been: Going shopping for baby clothes with her mother. Attending doctor's appointments. Posting photos of her scans on Facebook. Her father holding a tiny newborn in his massive hands, grizzled old face stretched into a happy grin. Uncle Lucas being handed the baby to hold, nervous and pretending not to care but melting in awe the first time a tiny hand clutched at his finger…..

Zoe sat up, angry at herself for thinking this way, rubbing sentimental tears from her eyes with a bunched fist. There was no point in dwelling on it. She had to be tough now, concentrate on looking after herself and the Maybe-Baby. As for the birth, if there was going to be one, she'd cross that bridge when she came to it.

Bridge.

Zoe frowned.

Why did that word strike a chord?

Zoe lay back down, letting her mind drift. Bridge. What did that mean?

Slowly, Fatima’s face came into focus, crouched under the table in her dream, lips moving whilst the saw screamed.

_ “....der the….idge…..”  _

That's what she'd heard, indistinct as it had been.

_ “....der the….idge…..”  _

Under the bridge? What was under the bridge? And what bridge?

Zoe had no idea if Fatima’s message was of any importance, but she knew dreams were a way of sorting through information, and it could be that her subconscious was trying to tell her something. The dreams she'd had in the cells had been helpful, in their own way, and Fatima had been a big believer in what dreams told.

There was another possibility, of course, one that simultaneously filled Zoe with hope and despair: The dream hadn't been her subconscious shouting at her, but had been Fatima’s spirit, reaching over the gap between worlds to help her.

Zoe had never considered whether she was superstitious or not. It had never really been an issue. As a child she'd been a firm believer, but as she'd grown it had become less relevant. There were real life horrors to deal with. But could it be true? In a world that could create Eveline, who was to say that the supernatural wasn't just another type of science……

Whatever the case, it was worth looking into this bridge.

Zoe began to search the swamp in her mind, thinking, remembering.

 

She made herself eat to conserve her strength. She'd made a rough map of the bridges in the swamp from memory, and with nothing else to do but survive her miserable existence, she was determined to investigate. It would mean sneaking over to the boat house and requisitioning a boat, but she could only hope Eveline wouldn't be paying too much attention.

Stepping outside into the mild weather, Zoe stopped. Another thought had occurred to her: She had no idea what the date was. Hell, she didn't even know what month it was. If she was pregnant, how the hell was she supposed to know how far gone she was, or when the baby was due? She had no inkling of how much time had passed since Tyler.

She began to trudge in the direction of the boat house, thinking about time.

It had been October when Eveline had arrived on the back of the storm, and since then Lucas’s birthday had gone unnoted, and Jack and Marguerite’s wedding anniversary. They'd missed Halloween and Thanksgiving too, and she had a sneaking suspicion that Christmas had also been and gone. The thought of not celebrating Christmas gave her a sentimental pang that surprised her with its strength.

Marguerite had always loved Christmas and they'd followed the Cajun traditions, eating chicken gumbo and Turducken. Lucas, who’d always been something of a pyromaniac, used to go into town to help with the building of the bonfires and one year had stuffed so many homemade fireworks into one of pyres that the fire service had been called out and he'd been forced into hiding for months.

Zoe thought Eveline would love Christmas, but she was glad nobody had thought to tell her about it. She couldn't imagine the travesty the child would make of the holiday.

As she crossed the yard to enter the barn, she hesitated. The barn had always been Lucas's domain, and she was nervous about going in, but it was the quickest route to the boat house. Steeling herself for a confrontation, she crept in through the doorway and started to climb the covered staircase.

There was an undisturbed layer of dust covering everything, which gave her hope that Lucas wasn't using this place any more. Wasting no more time, she opened the door and entered the main building.

She hadn't got far before she felt Eveline's attention on her….the child wasn't appearing in person - or the hallucination of her person - but Zoe could feel her presence as a niggling sensation in the back of her mind, like a nagging worry. Keeping her mood carefully neutral Zoe began concentrating on the random items scattered around the untidy corridors - the armless mannequins; the wooden crates; the wire shelves - as though she was merely on a scavenging trip and was wondering how useful they would be.

It seemed to work, as Eveline's focus dwindled, keeping a cautious eye on her but not overly worried.

Zoe kept up her facade, trying not to wish for alcohol to numb her thoughts, stopping to examine articles aimlessly.

She picked up a few items as a decoy and stowed them in her backpack: An old flashlight. A football bobble-head. A rusted set of screwdrivers.

Once Eveline's presence had receded to a mere tickle, Zoe pressed on.

It was dark in the barn. With no windows to the outside and the electrics still frazzled from the storm she did quite a bit of stumbling before finding where she needed to go. A wide open area full of tarpaulin-draped shapes echoed as she crossed it, and she found her way to door that opened onto the pier.

In the outside air once more, Zoe cringed as Eveline drew in once more. Trying to appear innocent and unconcerned Zoe controlled the shaking in her limbs and the encroaching panic Eveline seemed to draw in with her and quickly crossed the rickety wooden walkways.

_ What are you doing, Zoe? _

The voice was a whisper in her consciousness, accusing, suspicious. By way of reply Zoe hurried forward into the musty-smelling depths of the boat house and fumbled amongst the stacked junk to find her old fishing rod.

_ I need food, Eveline,  _ she said in her mind.  _ Please just lemme fish. I ain't goin’ nowhere….. _

Zoe grabbed more random stuff, banking on Eveline's ignorance of fishing, and continued to where a skiff was moored.

Eveline appeared to consider her request, mulling it over. It seemed to amuse her, the notion of Zoe being self-sufficient in such a way.

_ You need a gun, Zoe?  _ she asked, her mental voice full of sly satisfaction.  _ You want to hunt some squirrels for your pot? _

_ That'd be nice, Eveline…. _

Eveline's mocking laughter resounded in her head, reverberating throughout her skull.

_ Enjoy your fishing,  _ said Eveline.  _ And  _ don't  _ try to leave….. _

Zoe felt an awful tingling in her limbs at Eveline's words - an electric sensation that made her muscles stiffen. It was a warning, she knew - a reminder that Eveline had her powers, her ways of control.

_ Wouldn't dream o’ it, Eveline,  _ she said meekly, and climbed into the skiff.

 

It was dangerous, what she was doing. She knew it. But faced with the prospect of idly sitting around waiting for the end to come filled Zoe with despair - especially now she may have another person to consider.

Tyler's baby. What would it be like?

Travelling through the still waters of the bayou, she let her mind wander into a happy fantasy of birthing a beautiful baby boy with his father's curly hair. Of escaping, seeking out Tyler's parents, showing them their grandson. Showing them their son still lived, if only in this form.

Zoe sighed.

There was too much that could go wrong. She had to find out what was under the bridge.

 

The first one she reached was a rugged wooden affair that she was frankly shocked was still standing after the storm. It looked to be held together by persuasion and she had no doubt that anyone setting foot on it would be spilled into the swamp.

Luckily for her, she had no interest in walking on the rotten wood.

One of the items she'd grabbed back at the boat house had been a shorthandled shovel that she'd pretended had been for digging up bait, and she settled the boat on the muddy bank with the tool in hand.

She did a visual sweep of the area, looking for clues, hoping that whatever it was would be in plain sight, but she saw nothing. Even without knowing what she was looking for, there was nothing but mud and reeds, and those could be found anywhere.

With a sigh, Zoe set to digging. The mud was viscous, clinging stickily to the shovel, making it difficult to shift. The going was hard, but the exercise was a welcome change from moping around in the trailer. She had a purpose: A mission to accomplish, and at the end  _ hopefully _ a useful tool for survival. Or maybe a means for killing Eveline…..

Zoe worked hard, clearing a shallow area and widening it. She had no idea if what she needed was buried deep, but she also didn't want to risk missing it by concentrating too much on one spot. After an hour of excavation, her task made more difficult by the water that filled in the hole she dug, she had to admit defeat, and switched her attention to the opposite side of the bridge.

 

Another hour or so of work produced the same result, and Zoe was forced to consider that this particular bridge had been a bust.

She hadn't just dug either: Using a long stick she'd probed the water under the bridge, poking the soft mud under the surface, searching for something concealed by the swamp itself, but had uprooted nothing.

Digging, Zoe looked at the sky. She judged she had a few more hours until it got dark, and decided she could investigate another bridge before heading home.

 

Over the course of the next few days, Zoe proceeded to explore the swamp, digging under every bridge she found, sifting through the water for buried treasures.

She started every day as early as possible, waiting till her bout of what she was now certain was morning sickness had passed before starting out, working till the sunset forced her to return to her trailer.

It was exhausting, thankless labour, but giving in would have meant accepting that there was no hope, and for all her weariness and getting dirty she wasn't prepared to give up yet.

There were more bridges than she'd realised, most of them dilapidated affairs that barely warranted the title of “bridge” but she treated all of them equally.

Eveline, for the most part, left her to her own devices, watching her from afar with half an eye.

Zoe didn't know how far the girl's influence stretched, but she had a few hints along the way.

A couple of times when she'd been very far out, Zoe had been seized by what she could only describe as a feeling of impending doom, followed by a tingling sensation that quickly enveloped her entire body, stiffening her limbs until she turned the skiff round and began heading back the way she'd come. This, she believed, was a warning from Eveline, indicating she was going too far.

The distance was discouraging. Often she was miles out before the feeling occurred, meaning Eveline's control reached wide, and Zoe had never dared to continue beyond the invisible barrier she encountered. To do so would have meant death, she was certain.

The only other times she'd been dissuaded from exploring had been when she was nearing other people…

 

Zoe was travelling in a different direction, branching out. She’d already tackled one bridge that day, and they were becoming more scarce. She'd remembered another one lying in bed last night, one she'd completely forgotten about, and hoped it wasn't too far out.

She was rowing slowly, already tired, when she caught a whiff of woodsmoke drifting between the trees, and the unmistakable, delicious aroma of Cajun food.

It made her empty stomach growl, her mouth beginning to water, and began to row faster excitedly, spurred on by the thought of eating fresh food. As she neared the source of the tantalising smells she began to hear music too, an accordion accompanied by a nasal singing voice, and realised it must be some of the swamp dwellers that Lucas used to associate with. Every so often, pre-Eveline, he would take off in a boat to go visit his Cajun friends and come back smelling of smoke, rum and gumbo. They were private people who didn't associate much with outsiders and spoke French with a thick accent, but they'd apparently accepted Lucas as one of their own.

Zoe had never had much of a clue what else they got up to out there, and Lucas had always refused to allow her to accompany him, but she hoped they'd welcome her like they'd once welcomed her brother.

As she approached the bend in the river, thinking of nothing more than begging for some food, Eveline intervened, clamping down on her with terrible force. She felt the child's rage surge through her.

_ Turn back! _

The voice was almost a roar, blotting out all other thoughts, paralyzing her with its urgency.

Zoe dropped her oars, nearly losing them to the water, screaming at the sensation. There was a strange feeling in her limbs, a stiffness that caused an overwhelming panic.

“Evie no!” she wailed. “I didn't know! It was an accident!  _ Please! _ ”

That probing feeling was back, Eveline's presence focussed entirely on her.

Sobbing, Zoe watched helplessly as weird, ashy patches started to form on her skin, creeping over her arms.

“Eveline I didn't mean anythin’ by it, I promise!”

The voice came again, quieter this time.

_ Turn back. _

“I will, I will, I swear…” babbled Zoe as feeling began to return to her body, the strange numbness receding.

As quickly as she could, Zoe snatched up the oars in a panic, fumbling them into position. The black patches were still there, but they hadn't grown, and Zoe sobbed as she turned the boat around.

“I'm sorry, Evie….” She whispered, rowing swiftly back the way she'd come.

It had been a simple slip, but Zoe couldn't help wondering how close she'd come to being destroyed.

 

She'd reached the end of her list.

All the bridges within Eveline's limits had been explored, with no results except for the slowly fading patches on her skin.

Zoe say in her trailer, staring at the wall. Nothing. She'd found nothing.

What had she expected to find? A cure? A way of destroying Eveline? A fucking bomb?

Zoe lay down on her bed, covering her eyes with her arm.

“Think, Zoe,” she told herself. “What did Fatima say? She said I had to remember….so if I gotta remember it's somethin’ I already knew….”

She hadn't known about anything under a bridge, she was certain, so maybe she'd been looking in the wrong places.

Where would she find something useful?

The boat.

Didn't boats have a place called the bridge?

And where better to find something to tackle Eveline than the vessel that had brought her here?

Slowly, Zoe sat up.

Would Eveline allow her to explore the boat?

There was only one way to find out.

 

_ Why are you going to the boat? _

The voice was stern but uncertain.

“I just wanna explore, Evie.”

Zoe rowed the skiff slowly, giving Eveline  plenty of time to voice her disapproval. She knew there was a strong chance that the child would dig her heels in on principle and refuse to allow her to investigate the boat, but she had to at least try.

“I sit around all day not doin’ anythin’. Lemme do somethin’ useful.”

_ Useful to who? _

“All o’ us. I been thinkin’ a lot sat in the trailer by myself. I wanna show you that I can do stuff too. There has to be stuff on the boat that's useful.”

Eveline's disbelief was blatant.

_ You won't eat with us or live with us and you expect me to believe you want to help out because you're  _ bored _? _

Eveline sounded amused.

_ You had your chance, Zoe. You could have joined us at the start but you've been working against me since I got here. I don't trust you. _

“Even God gives second chances,” pointed out Zoe. “Show God yer sorry an’ you get to go to heaven no matter how bad you been.”

Eveline snorted.

_ God isn't here. You're wasting your time hoping for help from him. _

“But ain't you kinda our God? You look after us, you've made us what we are. We serve you. Won't you give a second chance?”

Eveline seemed confused, and Zoe reminded herself again that, no matter how powerful she was, she was still only a child. One that hadn't been alive long. One that was naive. One that was so vain and sure of herself that she couldn't imagine being thwarted - right up until the moment she was.

The child was silent for a while, apparently considering.

_ I still don't trust you,  _ she decreed eventually.  _ But I'm going to allow you to explore the boat. So that you'll see. _

“See what?”

_ See what I can do…. _

 

Zoe knew the ship had to have been big, but now that she was right up next to it she was still shocked by its size.

It hadn't just run aground in the storm either: The snarls of metal that flowered around the huge hole that had ripped it apart suggested a massive trauma, and Zoe was taken aback by the level of destruction.

She moored the skiff on a shard of of the ship that had buried itself in the sticky mud surrounding the wreck and made her way across the soggy ground. The more she looked at the hulk that rose out of the shallow waters, the less she wanted to go near it, and hesitated on the bank.

There was a sudden movement at her side, and she staggered away from it instinctively before she realised it was only Eveline. The projection of the girl stood on the surface of the mud with no body weight to sink her into it, and despite the stiff breeze that had picked up now Zoe was out in the open Eveline's clothes didn't move.

_ Go on, Zoe….. _ Eveline taunted.  _ You wanted to see it so bad. _

Zoe pressed on, feet sinking into the gloop, skirting oily puddles that glistened with contamination. She'd been prepared for  mold, but as she wove her way between the twisted debris that surrounded the boat she could see more mold than she had expected.

It coated the wreckage thickly, spreading over it in a blanket, and as she started to climb the metal steps she accessed through the torn-apart hull there was even more of it.

She had brought an old scarf with her as a precaution, and she now tied it uneasily over the lower half of her face, concerned that the atmosphere she was breathing carried airborne spores. It wasn't the best protection against infection, but it was all she had.

Zoe rounded a corner at the top of the steps and sucked her breath in sharply, the filmy fabric of the scarf momentarily dragged against her mouth, forming a caul between her lips.

Here the mold had clumped together forming a dense mass that clung to the handrail and extended to the ceiling, looking for all the world like an insect nest, but the twisted forms of human beings were trapped beneath the tarry surface, pleading arms teaching reaching out in a desperate tangle.

It reminded her of the time Lucas had left his plastic toy soldiers too close to the fireplace and they had melted together in a large lump.

_ You see, Zoe? They thought they could fight me…. _

Eveline's finger extended and poked at the sticky mass.

“You did this?”

_ They wanted to hurt me. Called me bad names - bitch. Freak. I showed them all. _

“You killed  _ everyone _ ?”

_ Most of them were killed by the friends I made. I can make them out of the mold, but they're weak and dumb. Not as strong as the ones I make from people. Alan I killed myself though. He was  _ really  _ mean. _

Eveline laughed, a high delighted sound in direct contrast to Zoe’s disgust.

She wanted to argue with the child, show her how wrong it was to treat human lives so carelessly, but it would have been no use. That was why Eveline had been made, after all.

_ Come on, Zoe - this way! _

Zoe followed her, making an interesting discovery about herself: She was actually glad Eveline was there to act as guide and keep her company in this creepy place.

Because of the damage to the ship, they had to go a roundabout way, climbing through holes and descending into narrow corridors filled with pipes. Even though Eveline didn't seem to require illumination, Zoe was glad she'd brought a flashlight, though the shadows it created leapt and danced alarmingly.

More steps, the clang of Zoe's feet echoing around the abandoned vessel. Eveline stepped aside to allow Zoe to open the jammed door at the head, and suddenly they were out in the open again, in a room that had been split apart.

One wall was entirely missing, giving them a view of the destruction as they looked down on the vast expanse of shattered wreckage. Zoe peered over the edge cautiously.

“How did it happen, Eveline? How did the boat break up?”

_ There was an explosion, _ said Eveline thoughtfully, and Zoe got the impression that the girl wasn't quite sure.  _ Something to do with the cargo? _

The girl shrugged, evidently not interested, and beckoned Zoe forward.

_ Come on - I want to show you something neat! _

Zoe followed with a certain amount of trepidation. Whatever Eveline considered “neat” was doubtless something horrible.

They climbed more stairs, Evie not giving her time to explore, although Zoe did manage brief studies of the ship's map on the walls in places. There was definitely an area marked “bridge” and she wanted to go there.

_ In here! _

It appeared to be some kind of sick bay, and Zoe regarded the locked cabinets with interest. There were bound to be useful items within.

She looked around expectantly, wondering why she'd been brought here.

“What am I meant to be lookin’ at, Evie?”

Eveline grinned in a way that put out Zoe on her guard, and there was sluggish movement from the next room. Something big shifted in the darkness.

_ Here it is!  _ Announced Eveline proudly.

A huge Molded staggered through the doorway, its belly swollen and pendulous before it, and Zoe shrieked as it turned it's head in her direction.

“What is it?”

_ One of my best creations! These ones are fat. Want to see what they can do? _

“No!” yelled Zoe, but it was too late.

Instead of lumbering towards her the Molded made a strangled retching sound and vomited gaudy curds of some kind of slime, spraying the stuff further than Zoe thought possible. It arced towards her and she was forced to dive behind a gurney for protection, but droplets of the vomit splashed her skin anyway. It burned like chemicals, sizzling the fat under her skin.

She heard the thing crashing past equipment to get a better shot at her.

“Eveline, make it stop!” she pleaded, but Eveline had gone, abandoning Zoe to the creature.

Keeping low, Zoe dodged back towards the door, hearing the Molded roar again, the gurgle in its throat suggesting it was gearing up for another projectile attack.

She didn't know if Eveline would allow it to kill her, but she didn't intend to hang around and find out.

Hurling herself through the narrow doorway she slammed the door shut behind her.

“Shit, Eveline. Why did you do that?” she asked the empty corridor, but the child didn't reply.

Had she gone? Testing that her flashlight still worked, Zoe began to pick her way towards the bridge.

 

She encountered one more Molded, the thing startling her as it fell through a ventilation shaft, but she managed to run away before it got to it's it's feet.

Zoe was surprised that there weren't more of them around.

Her progress took her to a level of the ship that evidently consisted of living quarters, the harsh metal of the corridors softened by furniture and framed pictures. There were communal eating areas and rooms for the crew to hang out, and Zoe found a cosy room with couches, a desk and a large green crate.

Curious, she opened the crate up, gasping at what was inside. Guns. Ammo. Syringes pre-loaded with supplements. Plastic pouches full of chemicals and bottles filled with pills.

Without thinking about what she was doing, Zoe swung her backpack from her shoulder and feverishly began to fill it, scooping up handfuls of stuff randomly. She wasn't sure what use the items would be, but she wasn't about to waste the opportunity to stock up.

The last thing to go into her backpack was a gun that she thought might be a 44 Magnum, though ammunition for this seemed scarce.

Zipping her bag up she slung it back over her shoulder and left the room.

 

The safe door was ajar. Curious, Zoe slid her fingers into the crack of the door and pulled it open the rest of the way.

There was a large black box inside it, the lid closed, and she reached inside to bring it out.

_ Zoe! _

Eveline's voice blasted her and Zoe staggered back, away from the safe.

“What, Eveline?”

_ That's enough exploring. Come home. _

Zoe stared at the black box hungrily. Whatever was in it, Eveline didn't want her to find out.

“What's in the box?” she asked.

_ Nothing. Leave it. _

Feeling rebellious, Zoe took a step toward the safe again, and Eveline's response was immediate.

_ I said leave it! _

She sounded angry, but there was something else underneath - something that sounded like fear.

Not wanting to provoke the child anymore, Zoe obediently turned away, starting the long walk back to her skiff outside. Her thoughts were in a whirl.

Eveline was afraid of what was in the box, therefore Zoe wanted it. It was just a question of getting to it when she could.

 

Back in her trailer, Zoe was thinking about time and its passage.

It irked her that she had no idea of the date, or how much time had passed since Eveline had arrived.

Finding a scrap of paper and a pencil Zoe sat at her table and began the painful process of remembering everything.

There were periods where she couldn't judge how many days had gone by - when she'd been incapacitated by her fever and when she'd been recovering from her family's attacks, for instance - but she made a rough estimation, allotting a few days here, a few there.

It was an unpleasant task, recalling all the incidents. Mapping the progression of the infection. She filled the scrap of paper with her random scribbles of memory, making a calendar of sorts, until at last she had some kind of vague idea as to where she was in the year.

January 2015.

It didn't seem right, but it had to be, and though she couldn't be certain of the exact date, the rough guess would have to do.

January. Meaning she’d had sex with Tyler sometime during December. So if she  _ was  _ pregnant…..the baby would be due in September?

She put her hand against her belly thoughtfully. It was weird to think there might be a little life growing down there, cells multiplying, forming a tiny person.

She'd noticed other things happening to her body, things she was unsure as to the relevance. Her breasts were sore a lot of the time, and she got tired easily. She found herself unable to eat certain things, the thought of them making her feel ill, which was awkward considering the sparse nature of her provisions.

Zoe went to lie down on her bed, wearied by her thoughts. She wished she had  someone to share them with.

 

Now that she had a rough idea of dates, Zoe had begun to mark off days in a journal to ensure she didn't lose track of time again, so she knew it was two days after the visit to the ship that the person arrived.

She'd become bored again now that her bridge project had come to an end, and had tied her mind in knots trying to work out a way of getting to that box unnoticed. Her only hope was to bide her time and hope Eveline would lose interest in her activities at some point.

It was hard forcing herself to lie low, especially considering that she might have another life to consider, and every moment that she spent cooped up in her trailer gave her more ideas to trouble her.

What if the baby was infected? That was a major concern. She worried about the baby popping out with a fully fledged infection, under Eveline's control from the moment it drew breath. How Eveline would love that. Another little slave-cum-playmate.

Feeling claustrophobic after her recent time spent outside, Zoe left the trailer in search of a diversion.

She'd seen Lucas outside earlier, marching towards the barn purposefully, so she decided to avoid that area and instead went to her mother's greenhouse.

Zoe knew the herbs with the magical healing properties were being grown there and hoped she'd be able to steal some for future use. It was definitely worth a try.

The building was already looking abandoned, the green vines starting to climb the base unchecked, and Zoe wondered how long it would be before nature took over completely. Her father hadn't done any maintenance to the property since Eveline had arrived, aside from the more nefarious projects like constructing cells in the guesthouse.

The undergrowth nearby was getting bushy and unruly, and Zoe regarded it critically. The joke would be on her family if escaping prisoners used the greenery as concealment.

She was turning away from the bushes and back towards the greenhouse when there was a rustling noise behind her, too strenuous to be the mere motion of the breeze, and she swivelled on her heel curiously.

The leafy fronds were still swaying, evidently disturbed by something. Probably just a bird. But a strange feeling was overtaking her - that of being watched.

What was in there?

Suddenly nervous, Zoe took a cautious step back so she was nearer the gate to the yard, keeping her eyes on the vibrating foliage. There was definitely something hiding there, and she only hoped it wasn't some dangerous animal like a snake.

Two branches parted as she watched, something blacker than the shadows within coming into view, and she caught the glint of an eye observing her.

Zoe stood still for a moment, wondering if someone had escaped from the guesthouse and whether they were going to ask for her help.

“Hello?” she whispered, and whoever was in the bush leaned forward.

It was then that Zoe noticed the ski mask pulled over the visitor's face, the eyes two glittering, predatory points of light.

Zoe’s own eyes widened, but still she didn't move.

“Do you need help?” she asked.

The masked face didn't reply, but shifted subtly, something else coming into view. It was the barrel of a gun, the black hole at the end pointing directly at her.

Zoe sprang into action, leaping backwards and twisting as she broke into a run. There was a muffled curse from behind her and the bushes erupted.

Not daring to look back, Zoe ran silently, feet skimming through the long grass, nearly stumbling over a partially submerged root. Her heart felt like It was beating in her throat, choking her with panic, as she crashed through the gate.

There was no time to shut it behind her, so she swerved, changing her course. The trailer door wouldn't keep the gunman out, but the next nearest door was the one to the barn where she might be able to lose him in the maze of corridors.

Zoe heard him behind her, feet pounding the ground as she slammed the door shut and took the stairs two at a time. She had no idea who he was or what he wanted, but the gun had been unmistakably trained on her so it was fair to assume he didn't want to be friendly.

She heard nothing behind her and had time to hope he didn't want to enter the building, but even as she thought this the door below smashed open and booted feet began to climb the stairs rapidly.

There was a noise up ahead, and Zoe looked up. Lucas stood in the doorway, a saw in his hand, face indistinct under the shroud of his hood. In the months that had passed her brother had been more of a threat than an ally, to lesser and greater degrees, but seeing him standing there gave her an instinctive surge of hope and she veered towards him.

“Lucas!” she gasped, her breath a painful scorch in her chest, and as she neared she saw he was scowling.

“Get outta my fuckin’ barn, Zoe,” he snarled, raising his saw in a threatening gesture.

Zoe faltered, but a door banged behind her, and she leapt towards her brother.

“There's a man…..” she wheezed, and Lucas cocked his head, peering past her.

She barrelled into him, clutching at the front of his hoodie in desperation, but Lucas grabbed a handful of the front of her blouse and hurled her aside impatiently.

“Get out the way,” he muttered as she hit the floor, putting out her hands to break her fall.

He stepped in front of her - not protectively, but merely to confront whoever had dared invade his territory, hefting his saw one-handed.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Zoe rolled onto her back, seeing Lucas square his shoulders for confrontation, and sat up.

Her pursuer stood at the far end of the room, dressed in camouflage gear, his ski- mask still in place.

Lucas laughed at the gun the man held, swaggering forward a couple of steps.

“Ya think that scares me?” he taunted. “I ain't afraid o’ no fuckin’ gun!”

The man didn't reply, and Lucas continued to advance on the intruder, swinging the saw, the blade swishing through the air.

“Ya made a big mistake comin’ here, my friend,” said Lucas.

The man levelled his gun, taking aim.

Zoe wanted to cry out, but there was no point. Lucas would deal with the situation. He wouldn't do it in her defense either - just clear the pesky interloper out of the way and get on with his business.

She saw the man’s gloved hand tighten on the trigger, and she flinched as a muffled gunshot echoed through the building.

Lucas didn't stop walking, and the gun sounded again.

The man craned his neck, studying his accuracy, and to Zoe's surprise didn't hang around any longer. He tipped an almost mocking salute in Lucas's direction, then immediately turned and left the room swiftly, beating a hasty retreat.

Her brother stopped in his tracks, letting the saw hang from his hand.

“What the fuck…..?” he said, sounding perplexed.

He made as if to follow his attacker, but his feet tangled beneath him, spilling him onto the floor. The saw skidded away from him, and Lucas crouched on his hands and knees, breathing heavily.

“Lucas?”

Zoe got to her feet, cautiously approaching her brother. She was still tingling from the burst of adrenaline, and she was scared to get too close in case he exploded into violence, but he didn't even turn as she neared.

“You okay Lucas?”

“Feel funny….” He said, his voice very quiet.

“Funny how?”

Laboriously, Lucas pushed away from the floor with his hands, forcing himself into a kneeling position with some difficulty. His upper body swayed like a sapling in the wind, and Zoe's concern overcame her fear.

Clutching his shoulder for support, she walked around him and stooped down.

There were no bullet holes. Instead, two darts stuck out of her brother: One slanting above the C of the LCS of his hoodie, stuck in the meat of his pectoral muscle; the other in his throat just under his Adam's apple. It bobbed as he swallowed.

“What in the….?” He muttered, groping for the dart in his throat and yanking it out.

It sat on his palm and they stared at it.

“What d’ya s’pose that is?” asked Lucas.

“Looks like….a tranquilizer dart, maybe?” suggested Zoe uncertainly.

“Tranquilizer dart?” Lucas echoed. “Why…?”

He shook his head, plucking the other dart from his chest, tossing them both aside angrily.

He fixed his gaze on Zoe, red-rimmed eyes squinting up at her.

“Don't tell nobody ‘bout this,” he said.

“Lucas, who am I gonna tell?” scoffed Zoe, but he grabbed her wrist, tightening his fingers round it cruelly.

“I mean it!” He growled. “Don't tell the old man. Or momma. An’ especially don't tell Eveline!”

Zoe frowned.

“Won't she be able to tell anyway? An’ why don't you want anyone to know?”

Lucas paused, his face puzzled, and even though he didn't release her his grip loosened slightly.

“I dunno,” he said. “Just seems like nobody should know….”

“Well, whatever Lucas. I won't tell. You gonna let me go?”

He looked at his hand wrapped around her wrist, and snatched it away.

“Sure. Get outta here.”

She backed away, still not trusting him, watching him climb to his feet with difficulty. He was rubbing the spot on his throat as though it irritated him and his expression was unreadable. Noticing her attention, he tried to frown.

“Fuck off, Zoe…” he said without energy, waving an arm in her direction, shooing her away.

Confused, Zoe did as she was told, leaving her brother looking around himself in the cluttered room.

 

Zoe was scared to return to her trailer in case the man was still around, finding herself wishing she could stay with Lucas despite his unpredictability.

After all he’d done recently, she had no reason to be concerned for her brother's well-being, but he'd been strange after the attack. Frightened, almost.

It had been weird, there was no question about that: The man shooting a couple of darts into him then leaving. Why hadn't he shot her? Had she been too far and too uncertain a target? Or had Lucas been his prey after all?

Zoe looked behind and beneath her trailer before shutting herself away - not that her door was any kind of barrier. Lucas had broken it too many times and she had to hold it closed with a wedge now so it didn't flap open.

Still uneasy, she settled herself down to think about everything that had has happened.

She was no closer to understanding the events when she heard Lucas leave the barn, and she scooted across to the window to peep out.

Lucas was wandering back to the house, dragging his feet with his head down. He didn't look as though he'd been tranquilized, his sluggish movements more akin to thoughtfulness than drugging, and just before he reached the veranda he turned and stared towards her trailer.

She met his gaze, holding it briefly, wondering if he was going to come and torment her, but in the end he just disappeared into the house.


	22. Inconsistency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas appears to be cured, but unfortunately it isn't as easy as that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long hiatus! Started working on this recently, just as the new trailer for the DLCs came out, so it's quite fortuitous that I finished it today.

Someone was knocking on her trailer door.

The makeshift calendar Zoe had created told her it had been 3 days since the mysterious man with the gun had shot  Lucas and she'd seen and heard nothing during the interval. It was odd to hear someone knocking - her family had long since abandoned any acknowledgement of her privacy. The only person who might knock would be Mia….

Zoe jumped to her feet from where she's been slouched listlessly on her bed and hurried the few steps over to the door, kicking aside the wedge that held it closed.

“Mia?”

She stared. Lucas stood on the second step, staring back in the gloom of the dusk and she cringed away from him instinctively.

“I ain't Mia,” he said unnecessarily.

Clutching at the counter by the door Zoe peered at him nervously. He looked different somehow, though she couldn't detect how.

“You're...knocking?” she asked.

Lucas frowned.

“Not right now, but I did...” he replied, talking slowly like he was speaking to a child.

“But you don't knock!” said Zoe.

“Sure I do. Weren't raised by wolves,” said Lucas defensively. “By the way, yer lock’s broken. Might wanna get that fixed.”

Speechless with confusion Zoe staggered away from the door and sat down heavily.

Lucas leaned through the doorway.

“So can I come in or what?” he asked, clearly exasperated by her lack of communication.

“What's stoppin’ ya?” asked Zoe.

Lucas grunted.

“Don't want ya fuckin’ yellin’ at me…..” He grumbled.

“Sure, Lucas. Whatever. Come on in.”

Lucas climbed the remaining step and wandered in awkwardly, sitting opposite her. Neither of them spoke for a while, until the silence became unbearable.

“What’s goin’ on, Lucas?” asked Zoe wearily.

“Was hopin’ you could tell me,” said Lucas. “I feel weird, Zoe. Can’t hardly remember anythin’. An’ what I can remember is kind o’...blurry….”

Zoe narrowed her eyes, looking at him properly in the stronger light of the trailer.

“What do you mean? Can't remember anythin’ since when? Since the other day - the man with the gun?”

Lucas didn't answer. He was staring at the table top where his hands twisted together aimlessly. Leaning across the table, Zoe touched her brother's hand tentatively. 

“Look at me, Lucas….”

He lifted his head, and Zoe gasped.

“Shit!”

“What?” demanded Lucas, a hint of panic in his expression. “What is it? What can ya see?”

Zoe got to her feet, grabbing his face in both her hands, turning it from side to side. He looked more...  _ human _ than usual. That bright gleam of malice was absent from his eyes, and the vacant hostility that had haunted him habitually for months was gone.

“Oh my god…..” She whispered.

“What the fuck is it, Zoe?” said Lucas, his distress more apparent, pushing her hands away.

Zoe sat back down heavily, the trailer shaking.

“It's  _ you _ ,” she said. “You're back!”

Lucas stared at her in utter confusion.

“Zoe, I have no fuckin’ idea what yer talkin’ about. O’ course it's me - Who else would I be?”

He peered at her, concerned.

“Why ya cryin’, Zoe? What's wrong?”

Zoe flapped a hand at him, trying to get herself under control. Her thoughts were in a turmoil, hope layered over relief layered over disbelief, but it was  _ him _ . Lucas. Her brother. She hadn't seen him properly for weeks. Maybe even months - she wasn't sure.

Clearly uncomfortable, Lucas slouched back in his seat regarding her doubtfully.

“Where have I been then, Zoe?” he asked. “Why is everythin’ so weird? An’ when the fuck did ya cut yer hair?”

Zoe took a deep breath, putting a lid on her rampaging emotions.

“What exactly do you remember?” she asked him.

Lucas shrugged, and Zoe hissed in exasperation.

“Don't just shrug, asshole!  _ Think! _ ”

“I don't wanna,” he retorted sulkily, fidgeting under her attention.

“Why not?”

Lucas started to shrug again but stopped guiltily, shoulders twitching instead.

“Cuz I don't like it,” he admitted. “It's dark in there….an’ I'm scared o’ what I might find.”

“Well, yer gonna have to do some diggin’ Lucas. Ain't no use me tellin’ you.”

Zoe softened at his miserable expression.

“You ain't been around for a while, Lucas. Not properly. Can't remember what the last thing you did was when you were still you.”

She thought hard.

“It might have been when I was sick and you brought me water. Or it might have been when you fought daddy to get me food. I ain't entirely sure.”

Lucas bowed his head, putting his face in his hands.

“Lucas?”

“I lied,” he whispered. “I do remember some stuff. But I been tryin’ to push it away…..There's some bad shit lurkin’ in there…”

Zoe didn't want to push him too hard, but he was no use to her in denial.

“Do you understand what’s happened, though? Do remember Eveline arrivin’, an’ the mold, an’ gettin’ infected?” she asked.

Lucas nodded.

“Yeah. Kinda. But like I said, I don't wanna think about it too much. I remember hittin’ ya, when Eveline told me to. Felt like I didn't have no choice, I guess, though I don't remember exactly why.” He paused. “Sorry ‘bout that, Sis.”

Zoe reached over the table tentatively, touching his hand. It was hard for her to grasp that Lucas might actually be back for good, but she wanted to believe it.

“I do understand that you didn’t have a lot o’ control over yerself whenever ya did stuff to me - “

She was about to continue, so relieved that she was able to be magnanimous and forgive his many varied transgressions, but she stopped as she saw the look on face.

“What?”

“What dya mean: ‘whenever I did stuff to ya’? What did I do, Zoe? Huh?”

Lucas was leaning over the table, scrutinising her keenly, a slowly dawning horror forming over his features.

“What have I done?”

Zoe spoke slowly, recounting the many hardships she’d been subjected to: the force feeding; the cold bath; the hair-cutting; the beating. Lucas listened to it all, his mouth dropping open, but when it got to the worst of her treatment at his hands, she found herself trailing off. There were things she didn’t want to discuss with him - things that still felt raw and awful and fresh - but she’d had to suffer for so long on her own there was another part of her that wanted to tell him  _ everything _ .

“You turned into some kinda animal,” she said, carefully not looking at him. “Ripped a chunk outta my neck, tore off my ear. Ate them both.”

“Holy shit….” he breathed. “I did that? Zoe, you ain't’ fuckin’ with me, are ya?”

Shaking her head, Zoe felt a little guilty for sharing the naked horror of it all when he’d had no control over his actions, but at the same time she had to make him understand how horrible everything had been - how terrified of him she’d become. How unpredictable he was under Eveline’s control.

Lucas sat back in his seat, mulling everything over.

“Guess I been real fucked up,” he said finally.

“Well, yeah. But yer okay now, right?” asked Zoe. “Yer cured? Eveline ain’t got you no more?”

Lucas shrugged, staring at his hands as if wondering what else they’d been up to in his absence.

“Ain’t a hundred percent,” he said. “She’s still in there, kinda. Bouncin’ around like an echo. Past few days I been snappin’ in an’ out o’ some kinda fuckin’....hypnotic state? Aint sure what it is exactly. Like I’ll be doin’ somethin’ then I black out an’ when I come to again I’m somewhere else an’ I don’t know what I done. It’s real freaky, Zoe. But those blackouts? There ain’t so many o’ them now. Gettin’ less an’ less. An’ Eveline’s getting quieter an’ quieter in ma head. I ain’t let on to her though. Uh-uh. Can’t have her knowin’. I been pretendin’ I’m still under. Doin’ whatever she wants me to.”

He snorted in disgust.

“Fuckin’ tea parties! An’ playin’ shitty boardgames with her. Carryin’ her round on ma shoulders.” He shook his head. “I’m scared I’m gonna slip up an’ she’ll know….an’ if that happens I don’t know what she’ll do to me.”

He glanced up.

“There’s somethin else, too,” he said. “Looked at ma phone earlier - there’s a message on there. Don’t know who from. But they want me to tell them stuff.”

“What? What kind of stuff? Who are they?”

“I got no fuckin’ idea! But they said they’re the ones who shot me an’ now I owe them. Said they cured me.”

Lucas turned, looking out of the window through a gap in the curtains, studying the house.

“I gotta go, Zoe. I can hear Eveline callin’ an’ she’s  gonna be suspicious if I ain’t careful. But I’ll come back tomorrow, ok? We can talk then. An’ I’ll try an’ remember more stuff.”

He stood, his shoulders hunched with worry, looking weary beyond all belief.

Obeying a sudden impulse, Zoe hugged him, not able to remember the last time she'd done it. He flinched instinctively at the sudden contact, apparently still awkward about physical affection, but he didn't push her away. Instead, he lifted a hand and patted her self-consciously on the back.

“It's good to have ya back, Lucas,” she murmured.

“Yeah. Well. We'll see about that,” he replied miserably.

 

Zoe lay awake that night unable to sleep, thinking about Lucas's apparent cure and what it might mean.

She could have an ally now, she realised- someone else who wasn't under Eveline’s control who could help her. And even if he wasn't all that helpful, it was nice to know she wasn't totally alone.

She gazed up at the grubby rectangle of her ceiling. The man with the gun...who had sent him? Did he come from the people who flew the helicopter over their house? Watching them? And why hadn't they acted before?

They pissed her off, whoever they were: They could help them. Maybe step in. Could have done it long ago.

Another thought occurred to her, one that made her sit up in bed with the force of it: The man had been aiming at her first. He’d been going to cure her. But she'd run….

She cursed herself soundly, balling her hands on the covers. She could've been cured, all the infection gone from her body, Eveline unable to affect her. And she'd run from her saviour, not knowing.

Zoe lay back down, the new knowledge tormenting her. It couldn't be helped now, she knew, but that didn't stop her from fretting.

It was a long time before she could get to sleep.

 

Lucas returned the next day, knocking again instead of kicking her door down.

“Eveline’s sendin’ me out for supplies,” he said. “Wants me to go to a hardware store a couple o’ towns away. She don't want the locals seein’ me - wants people to think we upped an’ left.”

He paused, looking at her with concern.

“You need me to her get you some food or anythin’?” he asked. “She gave me a ton o’ money. Don't know where she gets it from.”

Zoe had an idea that it was stolen, but since many of the victims brought to the house were vagrants, she couldn't be sure who she was stealing it from. It was possible Rosalie’s husband had had a fair bit of it….She shuddered.

“I could use some food,” she admitted. “I been livin’ off crap for a long time.”

“Yeah, it looks like it,” he said with a concern that made her want to weep with gratitude. “I'll pick you up some canned goods, stuff that'll keep, but I'll get you some fresh stuff too. Maybe pay a visit to McDonald's or somethin’, how ‘bout that?”

Zoe groaned. The thought of a burger and fries was making her weak.

“God, yes! Hey, Lucas...do you think maybe you could call in at a drugstore too?”

He frowned.

“Do I gotta buy you tampons or somethin’?” he asked. “Shit….”

“No…..”

She wrung her hands, feeling uncomfortable.

“I was hopin’ you could get me a pregnancy test….”

Lucas's face fell, the faint expression of distaste he'd worn at the prospect of purchasing tampons dropping off to reveal one of disbelief, which turned to shock, and finally something that looked very much like horror.

Zoe had been expecting his surprise, but she watched as he went pale, actually staggering a couple of steps before sitting heavily at her little table.

“What is it, Lucas?” she asked. “I know it's a surprise, but….what's wrong?”

His reaction was far more dramatic than she'd anticipated. He looked like she'd kicked him in the balls, and he was actually shaking.

“Oh fuck….” He moaned. “Oh goddam. Zoe….I remember….Eveline wantin’ me to….oh holy fuckin’ shit Zoe, please tell me I didn't - “

He broke off, evidently unable to continue, and Zoe realised which memory of his had come back.

“No! Lucas, oh my god no. You didn't do that!”

He tried to look at her but his gaze slid uneasily away, and he looked sick to his stomach.

“Lucas, listen to me,” she said. “Eveline tried to make you. But you didn't. You  _ wouldn't.   _ You hear me? You did a lot o’ bad things, I know, but she couldn't make you that. It's ok.”

Her brother gave a big, shuddering sigh of relief, shoulders sagging.

“Ohhh….oh thank fuck for that!”

His head bowed, and he put his hands over his eyes.

“I remembered just a little bit….fuck, that's nasty.”

He raised his head, finally able to look her in the eye, though he still seemed squeamish.

“So how?” he asked.

“You remember one o’ the prisoners in the guesthouse basement? Tyler?”

Lucas looked blank.

“Young guy with curly hair. Was in there the same time as - “ she swallowed, forcing herself to continue. “Fatima. The foreign girl.”

She saw a flicker of recognition in his face.

“Fatima...seem to recall someone called Fatima. Hot.”

“Yeah that's her. Tyler was there with her.”

“I'm guessin’ he's dead,” said Lucas quietly.

“You guessed right. Daddy killed him.”

“Well shit. An’ now you got his bun in yer oven, huh?”

She shrugged.

“Think so. Can't be sure. That's why I wanted a test.”

Lucas nodded, business-like now, getting to his feet.

“Okay. I'll see what I can do. An’ if you are….well, we'll deal with that when we know for sure.”

Zoe felt a surge of warmth towards her brother. It felt good hearing him say something simple like “we” when talking about her problems: It meant he’d already decided to help her.

 

It seemed to take an eternity before he got back, and Zoe was useless until he did. She paced her trailer in an endless loop, unable to settle. Her stomach grumbled and growled knowing that she might be getting some food soon - not decent food, but lovely unhealthy fatty junk food.

She heard the bang of the back door late in the afternoon, and flung open the trailer door eagerly. Lucas was slouching towards her, carrying a grocery sack in one hand and the distinctive brown paper sack with red writing on the other. She bounced in the balls of her feet in excitement, barely able to control herself.

Her behaviour brought a ghost of a smile to her brother's face - the first smile she'd seen on him in months that wasn't generated from meanness.

“Here ya go,” he said, handing it to her before he was even inside, and she felt the heft of the contents gratefully. It was heavy.

She planted a sound kiss on his bristly cheek that he scrubbed off theatrically with a grimace, then sat at her little table, ripping open the bag. Three burgers. Fries. Apple pie. Coke!

She moaned, stripping the paper from a straw and stabbing it through the cross in the plastic lid, taking a deep gulp. It was tepid, the ice long melted, but the sugar hit her with the force of a fist, sweetness flooding her mouth.

She snatched up a lukewarm burger, tearing a huge bite from it that nearly choked her.

“Hey, go steady!” said Lucas, but he was watching her indulgently, looking pleased by her enjoyment.

He waited till she'd all but decimated the first burger, interspersed with nips of the savoury fries, before he dug through the grocery sack and tossed a package onto the table with a green pharmacy logo on it.

Zoe regarded it like it would bite her, licking salt from her fingers.

“Got you a pack o’ three,” he said. “Just in case you wanted to be sure.”

She nodded, thanking him through a mouthful of bun, carefully nudging it out of her line of vision.

“When ya gonna do it?” he persisted.

“I dunno,” she admitted. “It's scary.”

He nodded.

“I know. But the sooner you do it, the sooner you'll know...”

He watched as she continued to eat, not forcing the issue, but the package sat there on the edge of the table, a time bomb waiting to go off.

 

Zoe had eaten so much she felt sick, but she still had to force herself not to attempt the third burger. She'd save this one. Savour it.

Lucas hadn't left, and sat scrolling through his phone smoking as she tidied up.

Once she'd tossed away the empty wrappers, Zoe opened the drugstore package.

She could see her brother watching her from the corner of his eye as she read the instructions on the back of the box.

“Says here it's best if you do it in the morning,” she said, feeling equal measures of relief and disappointment.

“It does? Shit! Now we're gonna have to wait…” said Lucas.

“We?”

“Yeah. I wanna know too,” he said defensively.

Zoe turned the box over in her hands.

“Hey, you remember Darleen Johnson from town?” she asked.

“Kinda,” he said. “So dumb she could throw herself on the ground an’ miss, if I recall.”

Zoe nodded.

“That's her,” she said.

“What about her?”

“She thought she was pregnant once,” she said. “Bought herself a baby carriage, diapers, baby clothes - all kindsa stuff. Kept waitin’ to get big, nothin’ happened. Then one day puts an advert on Facebook sayin’ she was sellin’ all the baby stuff. I asked her what happened, figurin’ she miscarried or somethin’, an’ she told me she weren't actually pregnant to begin with.”

Lucas frowned.

“Why did she think she was?” he asked.

“Apparently, she did an online test. Did everythin’ they asked an’ they told her she was pregnant. Turns out it was just a scam to get her to send them photos of her pussy an’ butthole…”

There was a pause, then Lucas burst out laughing, slapping his hand on the table. Zoe joined in, doubling over.

“No shit? Fuck! That's the stupidest thing I ever heard….” he spluttered.

“Yeah, poor Darleen. She was really disappointed,” giggled Zoe. “Said - said it seemed legit cuz one o’ them was a  _ doctor! _ ”

“Oh my fuckin’ God,” said Lucas, wiping his eyes. “Wish I'd thought o’ that…”

“Ewww!” 

Zoe punched him in the arm.

She felt good, despite the possibility of pregnancy hanging over her. Maybe it was just because she was well fed, or maybe it was because with Lucas on her side there could be more hope for the future. Whatever it was, it was nice to just be sharing a joke in her trailer after all the shit she'd been through.

Still sniggering, Lucas got to his feet.

“I better get back to the house,” he said. “You want me to come by in the mornin’ when ya do yer test? Moral support or whatever?”

Zoe considered.

“Yeah, I think I'd like that,” she said.

Lucas nodded.

“‘Kay. See ya tomorrow then.”

 

Lucas came round in the morning, tapping politely on her door.

Zoe had been up for a while, her guts in knots.

“We gonna do this then?” said Lucas.

Zoe held the box in her hands. She'd read the directions over and over during the sleepless hours of dawn. It was straightforward enough: Pee on the end. Wait three minutes. Look at the results.

Lucas looked as nervous as she felt, drumming his fingers on the table, jiggling his leg.

Zoe shut herself in the cramped confines of her toilet cubicle, hovering over the seat. She'd been holding it in for awhile, and the resulting flood went over the floor, the seat and her hand as well as the test, but she snapped the cap on and yelled out the door to Lucas as she cleaned up.

“Start a timer, Lucas! Three minutes.”

She heard him grunt an affirmative, and the countdown began.

It took her about a minute to mop up the mess with toilet paper, and she left the cubicle, dropping the test on the table as she went to wash her hands.

It landed next to Lucas's phone, and he made a fussy noise, sliding his phone away, shying back from the thing as though it was radioactive.

20 seconds to wash and dry her hands. This was the longest three minutes of her life.

Both of them made a point of not looking at the test, as though watching it would somehow affect the result. Zoe paced, moving items around on the counter, straightening the covers on the bed.

There was a pack of cigarettes sticking out of Lucas's hoodie, and she snatched it up, stealing one.

“Hey!” He complained, but didn't stop her.

She smoked standing up, hip against her closet, hand shaking.

Lucas's phone trilled, and he slid a finger across the screen, quieting it.

“You look,” said Zoe, puffing like a train. “I can't.”

Lucas picked the test up and examined the little window, then read the back of the box. He was sweating even though it was a cool day. He looked at the test again.

“Put that cigarette out, Zoe,” he said finally. “It ain't good for the baby.”

 

Zoe didn't know how to feel.

Lucas had fetched her a glass of water but it sat untouched in front of her and she stared at the little wet dribbles pooling on the table top.

“You wanna do another one?” he asked. “There's two more.”

She shook her head.

“No. It'll just tell me what I already know.”

They sat in silence for a while.

Under normal circumstances, she would have worried about money. She would have worried about what her parents would say. She would have worried about a hundred mundane but ultimately relevant things. Now she had a different set of worries - a crazy set.

“What do you wanna do about it?” asked Lucas eventually.

“I don't know,” she replied honestly.

Lucas licked his lips nervously.

“If you wanna get rid o’ it….I reckon I could prolly do that….” he said, his voice strained and uncomfortable.

Zoe looked up. He was staring off to one side, eyes fixed on something, and she followed his gaze to the wire hangers hung up in her closet. She shuddered. The sight of those otherwise innocent things and the knowledge of what they could be used for filled her with sudden revulsion.

“No!” she hissed. “Not that way!”

Lucas looked down at the table, his pale cheeks flushing.

“I didn't mean...there's other ways, Zoe,” he said, sounding embarrassed. “Pills an’ stuff. You ain't that far gone, are ya? I could get somethin’. If you want.”

She hesitated, then shook her head.

“I don't think I wanna do that, Lucas. I think I wanna keep it.”

“You sure? It ain't gonna be easy. Not in this place. All sorts o’ things that could go wrong.”

He was being reasonable, playing Devil’s Advocate, but at some point in the last few minutes she'd made her mind up.

“I wanna try,” she told him, her voice surprisingly steady.

“Well, okay then. If that's what you wanna do.”

He turned to look at the trailer door, frowning.

“Eveline wants me,” he said bitterly. “I gotta go. I'll be back, though. I'm gonna do what I can, Zoe. I promise.”

She smiled at him best she could, feeling tears start to sting her eyes.

“Thanks, Lucas.”

 

Zoe went back to bed. She was tired after yet another restless night, and it wasn't like she had anything she had to do.

She'd take a nap, she decided, and when she woke up she'd have something to eat. Lucas had brought her milk and cereal. She could have a proper breakfast for the first time in months.

And after that...she'd think of something.

 

She was in the basement of the main house, lying on some kind of hard surface. She knew before she tried to move that she was strapped down, but attempted it anyway.

She could smell rotting flesh and old, stale blood and the constant damp odour of the mild.

It was dark, but as she lay there a bright light snapped on overhead, blinding her.

“Always knew somethin’ like this would happen,” said her father's voice, gruff and grouchy. “What with all your slutty ways. You oughta be ashamed o’ yourself, Zoe!”

He came into view, leaning over her. His face was twisted with anger, a pulse beating on his temple.

“I didn't do anything wrong!” she protested, her voice echoing in the vast room.

Jack snorted.

“Nothin’ wrong, huh?” he growled, lips peeling back from his teeth. “You mean apart from openin’ your legs to that no-good asshole an’ lettin’ him knock you up? I thought I raised you better than that!”

He turned away, shaking his head and muttering.

“Like a bitch in heat,” he remarked.

He was putting on a heavy leather apron, dark with stains, crusted with filth, and the sight of it made the blood sing in her ears. She twisted helplessly on the table, sobbing. She wanted to scream for Lucas, but she was aware that doing so could get him into a lot of trouble.

“Your mother's  _ very _ disappointed in you,” continued Jack.

He was standing at a work bench, arranging things on it. They were heavy, and made metallic scraping sounds that filled her with dread.

“You've brought shame on this family. An’ I'm not about to allow it. No daughter of mine is goin’ to have a bastard child.”

Zoe was stung by the unfairness of it. Lucas had been born out of wedlock! She tried to point this out, but Jack turned on her angrily, clamping his hand over her mouth. He was wearing thick rubber gloves, and the smell coming from them made her gag.

“You just shut your filthy whore mouth!” he snarled. “An’ don't you ever dare question me or I'll cut out your tongue! You hear me? I'll cut out your dirty, lyin’ tongue!”

Zoe wept noiselessly. Something foul on his gloves had leaked into her mouth and she retched.

Producing a grubby handkerchief caked in snot from his pocket he took his hand from over her mouth and used it to pry her jaws apart.

Zoe shrieked as she realised what he was going to do, and tried to shake her head, pleading with him with her eyes, but he didn't meet her gaze. Instead he crammed the rag into her mouth, pushing it in with his fingers, pressing it onto her tongue.

“There,” he said with satisfaction as she made choking sounds. “That oughta shut you up.”

He went back to his bench, picking up items and peering at them. They were thick and crude, looking like he'd made them himself, twisted tools covered in dark grease. He held up something that looked like a pair of toothed forceps, and grinned.

“Yeah, this is what we need,” he said, making his way back to her with lumbering steps. “Rip that thing right outta you….”

He disappeared out of view, going to the foot of the table.

Zoe screamed into her gag as he pulled her legs apart.

 

She woke up, her scream trapped in her throat, heart beating fiercely.

Sunlight was filtering in thin strips through her windows, and she could hear a solitary bird singing nearby.

With a groan, she hauled herself out of bed.

 

Zoe saw Lucas during the course of the day, walking back and forth across the yard carrying things: Tools; sheets of wood; crates of bleach.

She watched from her window, bundled up in a blanket, feeling lazy. Some part of her thought this constituted “taking care of herself”.

She wasn't sure what he was up to, but it gave her something to look at. It was only when he began to lug furniture over to the barn that she realised he might planing to move out of the main house like she had.

Wondering if he'd need any help, and finding that taking care of herself was a very dull occupation, she made herself get out and go over to the barn.

 

She had to go fairly deep into the building before she found evidence of his work: He was setting up a living area, putting up partitions to form walls, cleaning traces of mold from the walls. She could hear the whine of his circular saw going, and followed the sound, smelling the clean, pleasant odour of sawdust.

She found him near the door to the boat house, plastic goggles over his face as he worked, and waited till there was a lull in the din before speaking up.

“Hey Lucas!” she called, and saw him flinch.

His head snapped up. She couldn't see his eyes properly behind the goggles, but his mouth was drawn in a sour scowl.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” he snapped.

His sudden ill-temper made her recoil, taking a couple of steps back ready to run from him, but then his shoulders dropped, his body relaxed. He pulled his goggles  up onto his head, and blinked, his face clearing, his expression becoming softer.

“You gotta be careful, Zoe,” he said. “We don't want the others to know we got anythin’ goin’ on….”

She nodded, still slightly shaken by his outburst.

“Just wondered if you needed any help,” she said. “I ain't got nothin’ to do.”

Lucas looked around himself, taking in the heaps of supplies, then shook his head.

“Naw. You can't help. Ain't havin’ you liftin’ things in your condition, nor usin’ anythin’ that could give off fumes. Fact, you should prolly stay away from here while I'm workin’.”

Zoe hung her head in disappointment.

“Guess yer right,” she conceded. “Just bored is all. Been lonely too for a while, since Mia ain't allowed to talk to me.”

Lucas frowned.

“Mia ain't allowed to talk to you? How come?”

“Aww, Eveline decided we were a bad influence on each other. Always plottin’. Didn't want me to have a friend.”

“Just as well if y’ask me,” said Lucas, brushing sawdust from his hands. “Dunno what she was like before, but she's plum crazy now.”

“She is? How?”

Lucas shrugged.

“Been actin’ real strange,” he said vaguely. “Flippin’ out then actin’ normal. Scared the shit outta me first time she did it, but nobody else reacted, so I guess they're used to it at least.”

“But she was fine up till recently!” said Zoe.

“Maybe you was keepin’ her sane,” Lucas suggested. “An’ now she ain't got you she's let herself go over to the dark side.”

“Maybe…” said Zoe sadly.

“Oh! I nearly forgot!”

Lucas hurried to a corner, digging around amongst a pile of junk till he produced a large hardcover book.

“Here - It's a little outta date, reckon Momma must o’ got when she was havin’ me, but it's better than nothin’.”

Zoe looked at the cover. A cartoonish drawing of a heavily pregnant woman smiled as she sat in a rocking chair knitting baby socks.

She giggled.

"Thanks Lucas,” she said.

Lucas looked serious.

“I had a look through it. Don't get all panicky when you read it - it tells you all about what could go wrong,” he said grimly.

“You didn't read it,” said Zoe scornfully. “I reckon you just looked at the pictures hopin’ to see a little pussy.”

“There aren't any,” said Lucas. “Only a few titty shots.”

“Lucas…..!”

“Anyway, you get on outta here,” he ordered, shooing her away. “I got work to do.”

“You gonna be livin’ here?” she asked, craning her neck to look at the old stove in the corner, the rickety table pushed up against the wall.

“Uh-huh,” said Lucas. “Wanted a little privacy, an’ thought it would be easier to keep ma secret out here.”

He replaced his goggles back over his face and picked up his saw.

“Off you go, now,” he said, and started it up.

 

Zoe was reading the book, concentrating on the section about early pregnancy, when Lucas burst through the trailer door unannounced.

Zoe shrieked, cringing away from him, thinking crazy Lucas was back, but when she looked at his face it was terrified rather than feral.

“Zoe!” he said, panting. “I just remembered somethin’, an’ you gotta tell me if it really happened or not!”

Zoe closed her book. It couldn't have been something good.

“Okay Lucas,” she said.

“Promise me you'll tell me the truth.”

His expression was so earnest Zoe promised despite her misgivings.

“Rosalie….” he said. "She was here, right?”

Zoe sighed.

“Yes, she was.”

“An’ I killed her, didn't I?” he wailed. “Stabbed her to fuckin’ death! Ripped her guts open!”

“No!”

Zoe struggled to her feet, grabbing Lucas by the arm and trying to get him to meet her eye, but his gaze slid crazily all over the place, wild and frantic.

“Lucas, that didn't happen!”

“But I remember it!” he sobbed. “I was workin’ in the barn just now an’ I had a knife I stuck into a post, an’ right then it all came floodin’ back….She was gagged an’ the old man was holdin’ her….an’ Evie told me to kill her so I did! Aww, shit, Zoe - I fuckin’ killed Rosalie…”

He collapsed onto the seat, head bowed and shoulders heaving.

“Lucas, listen to me: You did  _ not _ kill Rosalie. You hear me? That's a fake memory. Eveline put it there.”

“But I remember it….” he moaned. “I remember the way it felt, how the skin split….how she struggled….the blood on her gag….”

Zoe sat down opposite him, taking his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her.

“Lucas, shut up!” she said in the sternest tone she could muster, and Lucas snapped his mouth shut in shock.

“Right. Now. I'm gonna tell you what happened - all of it I know, anyway, cuz I don't know what went on between the pair o’ you when you were outta sight an’ I don't  _ want _ to know. But Imma tell you the truth. Even the nasty parts. Understand?”

Lucas nodded meekly, and Zoe began.

 

Unsure where to start at first she groped in her mind for a jumping off point: Rosalie’s letter with the accompanying photo.

After that she recounted what had followed: Lucas's interactions with Rosalie on Zoe's Facebook account, Eveline’s demands, Mia’s attempted intervention and the results….

Lucas interrupted her there, eyes wide.

“I fucked Mia?” he asked in awe.

“Well, no. Not then: Momma caught you both. But you two did it a couple o’ times before that.”

“Shit….” 

Lucas looked peeved.

“How come I remember stabbin’ Rosalie but not dickin’ Mia?” he marvelled grumpily.

Zoe sighed, treating the question as a rhetorical one, and continued.

She told about the punishments - about Mia’s enforced fast and Lucas's regression, and about Rosalie arriving.

Lucas hung into every word, listening to Zoe’s account with fascination. By the time she had finished, he had a lot to take in.

Zoe thought he'd be preoccupied by Rosalie’s husband's murder, but when he eventually spoke it was in a wistful tone.

“She really liked me, huh?”

“Yes, Lucas. She liked you a whole bunch,” said Zoe gently.

“An’ she's safe, right? That weren't her I killed?”

“Well, we don't know what happened to her when she left here, but when she did she was okay an’ she didn't come back.”

Lucas nodded.

“Thanks, Zoe. That makes me feel a whole lot better.” He paused. “I don't know where that picture of Rosalie went. Reckon Eveline made me toss it away. An’ I got nothin’ on my phone, though I seem to recall her sendin’ me somethin’....must o’ deleted it. That's a shame, huh?”

“It sure is,” agreed Zoe, and she was telling the truth.

Lucas looked tired, worn out by all the revelations.

“Think I'll go back to the barn,” he said. “Have a think about it all. Try an’ remember the good stuff….”

“Have you thought about what to do about the people who shot you?” asked Zoe.

He shook his head.

“Not yet. Still decidin’. Don't know what they're gonna want.”

He trudged to the trailer door.

“See ya Zoe…” he muttered, and stepped out into the yard.

 

A couple of days passed, during which Zoe only saw Lucas as he went to and fro between the house and the barn. He appeared to be keeping to himself, and she hoped he was managing to make sense of all that had happened.

On the third day, she saw him sitting on the steps of the verandah, staring moodily off into the distance. He looked pensive and unhappy.

It was risky to go out and join him, she knew, but she was so grateful to have her brother back and helping her she wanted to help him in return.

It was a warm day, the sun fighting it's its way through the clouds, and Zoe was feeling positive for the first time in months. She'd been reading the book Lucas had found in the house about maternity and childbirth and it had made her slightly more confident about what lay ahead. At least she had more of an idea about what she could expect from her body, if nothing else.

And she had food - real food, not preserved or dry stuff, and the regular nutrition was having an effect, padding out her bones and giving her strength.

Those things in themselves were enough to make her leave the safety of her trailer to join him.

He didn’t look up at her approach, just kept staring, and she realised he was looking in the direction of the old barn.

“Hey Lucas,” she said. Sitting next to him on the steps. “What ya doin’?”

“Nothin’,” he muttered, not looking at her.

“Penny for yer thoughts?” she asked, trying to be casual.

He grunted.

“Need a lot more than a penny,” he said.

Zoe fell silent, watching him. He’d turned himself away from her slightly as she’d sat down, so she couldn't see his face.

“Zoe, would you say I was stubborn?” he asked.

Zoe snorted laughter. She couldn’t help it.

“Okay, okay…” he muttered, sounding irritated. “You don’t have to answer that. I know I always been a stubborn sonofabitch. But I wanna think that maybe I’m man enough to admit when I’m wrong.”

“What you been wrong about?”

Zoe turned her face up to the sky, enjoying the sunshine on her face. Whatever he was bothering him it didn’t seem as serious as she’d thought - only Lucas could make such a big deal about admitting he was wrong.

His next words knocked those thoughts right out of her head, though.

“I always thought there wasn’t no such thing as God an’ the Devil,” he mused, almost to himself. “Always said that. But now I’m thinkin’ maybe there is. An’ not just those guys - the other ones too, the angels an’ the demons….”

“Shit, Lucas! Y’all gettin’ religion or somethin’?”

“Not really,” he said, still sounding thoughtful. “Just cuz I started to believe don’t mean I want any truck with ‘em. But here’s the thing, Zoe - maybe everybody else is wrong about them too: All the preachers an’ such like tellin’ us all about heaven an’ hell. They ain’t actual places, I reckon. But they’re real in our heads.”

“Lucas, yer startin’ to sound crazy….”

She saw his back stiffen at that, his shoulders drawing up, and winced at her poor choice of words. The kids at school had called him a crazyhead and it had always bothered him.

“Lucas - “ 

He waved a hand dismissively.

“Whatever. Look, all I’m tryna say is that maybe it's all in our heads - like all o’ us got those things, the angels an’ the demons both, inside o’ us, just waitin’ to be let out. An’ sometimes, it don’t take much to let ‘em out. An’ once they’re out….they ain’t easy to shut them back up again….”

“Lucas,” said Zoe carefully. “What are you tryin’ to tell me?”

He paused.

“I ain’t right, Zoe,” he said finally. “Eveline ain’t got ahold o’ me no more, but I still aint right….”

“Well, it’s gonna take some time,” said Zoe soothingly. “You got some o’ that PTSD or somethin’. It’s bound to affect ya!”

He was shaking his head before she’d finished talking.

“No, it ain’t like that. It’s kinda like Eveline brought that demon part o’ me out, and now it’s had a taste o’ what it’s like, it ain’t never goin’ back. It likes bein’ free.”

“Lucas, you're scarin’ me….”

“Good,” he said darkly, hunching his shoulders over. “Cuz you oughta be scared. I know there’s stuff you ain’t told me, about what I did when I as under. I know you kept stuff back. But you more than anyone should know what I was capable of when Eveline had me in her control. An’ I’m betting’ it weren’t nice.”

“No. It wasn’t,” she said softly. “But you're stronger than that.”

“Aw. Well. Turns out I ain’t,” he said.

It might have been her imagination, but he sounded almost amused, and the thought that he might be finding this conversation funny sent a shiver down her spine for some reason. Suddenly, she was glad she couldn't see his face.

“Lucas?”

She touched his arm tentatively, and he shrank away from the contact.

“Don’t!” he yelped.. “Don’t touch me Zoe! I don’t deserve it.”

The humour in his voice - if it had ever been there - was gone now, replaced with anguish. His shoulders shook as if he were stifling a sob.

“Lucas, what is it?” she pleaded, feeling suddenly helpless. “What’s wrong? Lemme help you!”

“Ya can’t help me Zoe. It’s gone too far for that. I done somethin’ bad…..” he moaned. “I done somethin’ real bad an’ I can’t even blame it on Eveline…..”

He rubbed his hands over his face as if trying to wipe away all the misery. She could hear the rasp of his stubble against his palms.

“Lucas,” she said, trying to sound calm and reasonable. “What did you do?”

He finally turned around, and she was shocked by the haunted look on his face, his mouth drawn down, his eyes deep and despairing.

“It was somethin’ real bad….” he whispered, then turned to look at the barn again, staring it down.

“Show me,” she said firmly.

He shook his head violently.

“Uh-uh, no way. You ain’t seein’ that. Not in your condition.”

He got to his feet, squaring his shoulders.

“It’s my mess, an’ I’ll deal with it.”

Without another word, he began to walk away.

Zoe followed, catching hold of his arm.

“But Lucas….” she protested, and he whirled around angrily.

His face had changed, his eyes darker, his teeth bared in a snarl, and it sent her reeling back away from him.

“She wouldn’t shut up!” he hissed. “Stupid bitch! She wouldn’t fuckin’ shut up! I told her. I told her over an’ over I wouldn’t hurt her, but she kept  _ screamin’  _ and  _ screamin’ _ till it drove me nuts. I mean, goddam! How hard can it be to not make all that fuckin” noise? Stupid fuckin’ bitch.”

Shocked, Zoe couldn’t think of anything to say, the horrifying realisation that Lucas had been telling the truth sinking in. She stared at him, and he sneered, looking unbelievably pissed.

“Don’t look at me like that. Always did fuckin’ sit in judgement on me. Lookin’ at me all the time with them accusin’ eyes. Well you can stop in right now!” he hissed. “In fact, if you don’t keep yer filthy fuckin’ stare to yerself, I’ll poke them eyes clean out, ya hear me? Clean! Fuckin’! Out!”

He turned on his heel and stormed into the barn, slamming the door shut behind him.

 

Zoe had been more shaken by Lucas's dramatic mood changes than she wanted to admit. She'd gotten complacent, she guessed, trying to convince herself that her brother was back and things would be better now.

In some ways, he was scarier now than before.

Zoe hid out back in her trailer, trying to take her mind off what had happened by reading the baby book, but her concentration kept wandering, trying to imagine what mess Lucas has made that he had to clean up.

 

He returned later on that afternoon, knocking softly on her trailer door, and she cringed, not wanting to let him in. It was reassuring that he'd knocked, but still….

“‘s’okay, Zoe - It's me,” came his voice, low and apologetic. “ _ Me _ me, not that other me.”

Zoe got up and opened the door, half expecting him to barge his way in, but he lingered on the steps.

There were spots of blood on his hoodie, faded to pink as though he'd tried to scrub them off, and he smelled strongly of smoke.

“Come in, Lucas,” she sighed.

He did so, his steps cautious like he was worried he'd start to rampage.

“Zoe, I'm sorry…..”

He sounded utterly miserable, and despite their earlier confrontation her heart went out to him.

“It's like I ain't got no control over it,” he moaned. “You were right, Zoe - I  _ am  _ crazy. An’ it scares the hell outa me.”

He sat heavily at her little table, folding his arms on it and lowering his face wearily onto them.

“I understand it ain't your fault,” she said.

“Don't make no difference,” he said, his voice muffled. “I mean, what if I do somethin’ to you…?”

He sat up. His eyes were red - from the smoke he reeked of or from crying she wasn't sure.

“What if I hurt you?” he said anxiously. “Or, ya know…”

He nodded towards her belly.

“The little guy….”

“I don't think you will,” said Zoe, with more confidence than she felt. “I think you're stronger than that crazy part. I mean, when Eveline tried to make you - “

She stopped, and he looked away from her with a guilty grimace.

“Never mind,” she said. “All I'm tryin’ to say is she pushed you real hard, but you were stronger. That has to count for somethin’.”

“I dunno,” he said, still not looking at her. His voice sounded distant. “I think her timin’ was just off. Was too soon for that. I get the feelin’ that if she'd waited an’ tried further down the line, I would o’ just gone ahead an’ done what she wanted….”

He sat up abruptly.

“Don't wanna think about that though,” he said decisively. “But Zoe: when I was talkin’ earlier, about demons an’ the like...that had to be the crazy part o’ me talkin’, right?”

“Probably,” said Zoe, trying to be tactful.

The entire conversation was upsetting her, reminding her of dreadful things she didn't want to consider, but she was determined to hear her brother out. She could tell it was important to him - part of his healing process.

“Ain't demons,” he mused. “It's  _ psychology.  _ Y’know what it's like? It's like when you get this urge to do somethin’ - somethin’ mean or crazy or dumb - Like when Momma used to make us go to church an’ you said sometimes you just wanted to take yer clothes off an’ run through the buildin’ screamin’ foul words cuz you couldn't stand to see all those folks sittin’ there all prim an’ proper like they never done nothin’ bad. Y’all remember that?”

“Yeah, I sure do. Was Old Lady Hannigan brought it outta me most - always dressed up to the nines lookin’ at me like I was the Whore o’ Babylon when everyone knows she met her husband in New Orleans workin’ the strip clubs.”

Lucas nodded.

“When ya wanted to do that, what stopped you?” he asked.

Zoe laughed.

“Common sense!” she said. “Knowin’ if I did it I'd have to look everyone in the eye later on….and the amount o’ trouble I'd get into with Momma an’ Daddy.”

“I reckon everyone's like that,” said Lucas. “Everyone has crazy things they think about doin’ that they never do - sometimes it's cuz they'd get into trouble, other times it's cuz it's wrong or dumb. We all got a filter, takes care o’ stuff like that.”

“What's your point, Lucas?”

He hesitated.

“My filter ain't workin’ right any more,” he said quietly. “If I try an’ tell myself: ‘Lucas, ya can't do that, you'll get in trouble!’ it comes right back with: ‘No ya won't! Who ya gonna get in trouble with?’ Or if I think o’ somethin’ that's, like, wrong  _ morally _ , it tells me I don't follow society’s rules no more, cuz I ain't a part o’ society. Tells me to just do what I want. Don't get me wrong, I been resistin’, but it's like somethin’ went wrong in my brain when I got infected and the cure somehow made it all worse. Made it  _ confused. _ ”

“Lucas….what did you do? Are you gonna tell me?”

Lucas squirmed in his seat, and for a moment she thought he'd shy away from the subject, but then he spoke again, slow and cautious.

“There was a girl. In the cells. Dad brought her in. She was cute, but she'd been injured pretty bad an’ when I went to take her some food she was moanin’ an’ cryin’...in pain. An’ I thought I'd help her. Took her outta the cells an’ into the barn. I swear, I just meant to sling some o’ that goop over her an’ take her right back - knew I couldn't rescue her, cuz o’ the trouble I'd get into with Eveline an’ our folks - but I thought I could maybe stop her from bein’ in pain…..”

He chewed on his lip. It looked like he'd been worrying at it for a while, making it red and raw.

“’cept when I got her into the barn, I started thinkin’: ‘Lucas, you can do whatever you want with her. Eveline ain't gonna mind. Police ain't gonna do nothin’. Why don't you just….have a little fun….’.”

Lucas looked up, earnest but full of misery.

“I didn't mean to hurt her. I swear. But I must o’ started actin’ strange cuz she started to get scared an’ even though I tried to hush her up an’ tell her she was ok...well, she must o’ seen somethin’ different in my eyes, cuz she started screamin’. Wouldn't shut up. An’ I guess I got mad. Don't remember what happened. Blacked out again, an’ when I came back to myself she was all messed up.”

“Dead,” said Zoe flatly.

Lucas laughed, an odd, hollow sound that wasn't entirely sane, but stopped abruptly and frowned.

“Aw yeah. Dead alright. She was, uh, in pieces. Tore open. Couldn't find no weapon lyin’ around so I must o’ done it with my bare hands.” He looked down at himself. “Was naked too, covered in her blood.”

Zoe shifted uncomfortably. She wanted to believe Lucas was okay now - wanted to believe it so much that even though she knew she shouldn't overlook this incident she still found herself trying to excuse it.

“Lucas, it's only been a week,” she said nervously. “Maybe it’s just gonna take time for you to get back to normal. Maybe it's just like, you know...aftershocks. Like after an earthquake…”

“But what if it ain't?” he said. “What if before I was doin’ bad stuff cuz Eveline wanted me to, but now I'm doin’ it because  _ I  _ want to?”

“I don't believe that,” said Zoe more confidently than she felt. “That ain't the Lucas I know. The old Lucas, well, he was an asshole sometimes it's true, an’ bad-tempered an’ lazy an’ bore a grudge - “

“Hey, go careful with all the flattery, gonna gimme a swelled head,” said Lucas sourly.

“ - but he weren't a  _ bad _ person,” she continued, undeterred by his sarcasm.

“Ain't sure Brent Chambers would agree with you….” muttered Lucas.

Zoe snorted.

“Whatever you did to Brent he fuckin’ deserved,” she said with a ferocity that surprised even her. “You know what he was gonna do. You were just protectin’ me!”

Lucas gave her a doubtful look and appeared to be about to protest, but Zoe wouldn't allow it, and drove a steamroller over his objections.

“You just hang in there, Lucas,” she said. “The old Lucas is on his way back. We can wait for him.”

“Yeah. Maybe yer right. Thanks, Zoe.”

He still looked miserable, but he was undeniably more chipper than when he’d come in.

He got to his feet.

“I been thinkin’ about the message from those people that shot the cure into me,” he said. “They gave me an email address to contact them. I decided I'm gonna do it. Maybe get me some answers.”

“An’ maybe another cure?” said Zoe hopefully. “For me?”

“Maybe….” he said. “Though I don't know whether they'll give me one. Or what it’d do to you an’ the baby. Worth a try though, I guess.”

“Please try!” said Zoe. “I don't wanna be here when the baby’s born! I wanna leave, get somewhere safe….”

“Okay. I'll see what they say. But I can't promise nothin’.”

He stopped by the door, examining the broken lock.

“I'll bring my tools round tomorrow,” he said. “Fix that door for ya.”

Then he left, shutting the door considerately behind him.


	23. Injustice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas goes onto the ship and Zoe remembers something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sad chapter. Prepare yourself. Trigger warnings for miscarriage and violence.

_ Friday, January 16, 2015 12:42 AM _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Thanks to you guys it's been about a week since my head's been clear and back to normal. And she STILL thinks she's got me! You guys really need to work on fixing that. Not only does she look like a little kid, but she's about as stupid as one, too. _ __   
  


_ Mom and dad are still totally under though. I was wondering. Is the whole "family" obsession something you guys programmed into her? It's kinda fucked up. _

 

“Whatcha doin’?”

Lucas's voice was too close, spoken over her left shoulder, and Zoe jumped, clutching at her chest.

She hadn't heard him approach - he just seemed to have appeared from nowhere, silent and sneaky.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Lucas!” she gasped, reeling away from him instinctively.

He sniggered, a nasty low sound that made her study his face to see which version of her brother she was talking to right now.

“Jumpy, aintcha?” he said.

He looked...okay. That was the best she could say. He seemed delighted that he'd scared her so easily, but at the same time there was no real malice in his expression. And he didn't seem bothered that she was in his inner sanctum.

“You snuck up on me, Lucas!” she complained. “You ain't got no call to be that sneaky round me…”

“Sorry, sis,” he said, not sounding very sorry. “Couldn't resist it when I saw ya sneakin’ around ma crib. Whatcha up to?”

He carried a bunch of wires, coiled up in a multicoloured bundle looped over his shoulder and heaved it onto his work bench.

“Just came over to talk,” said Zoe, her heart still hammering behind her ribs. “I remembered somethin’ I wanted to tell you.”

“Well, I'm here now. Tell me.”

He plucked a cigarette from the pack in his hip pocket, glanced at her with a frown, then jammed it back in again. This simple gesture set her mind at ease - he was concerned about her breathing in his second-hand smoke, which meant him scaring her had been simple mischief.

“While back I went out to the boat,” she said.

“Eveline let you do that?”

He looked incredulous.

“Just once. Think she wanted to show off what she'd done. I doubt she'd let me go back again. Lucas, I found somethin’ out there - somethin’ she weren't keen on me gettin’ my hands on. I thought it might be useful.”

“What was it?”

“Some kinda...box. It was in an open safe, left behind like someone had opened it but didn't have time to take it with them before they left. When I tried to look inside, Eveline went batshit. Which makes me think it might be somethin’ useful.”

“An’ what d’you want me to do about it?”

“Eveline lets you go to the boat, right?”

Lucas looked pensive, chewing on the skin around his thumbnail in a nervous gesture she hadn't seen from him in years.

“Yeah...she did…” he said. “To pick up supplies an’ stuff. An’ to play….”

“Play? What kind o’ things did you play on a shipwreck?”

“Tag. Hide an’ seek.”

He glanced at her, eyes sunk deep and troubled. “Get the feelin’ there was somethin’ else we did out there too. Somethin’ nasty….”

He shook his head vigorously, as though trying to dislodge an irksome thought.

“Can't remember much,” he said. “Just a man, screamin’.”

Zoe shuddered.

“I tell ya, Zoe - it fuckin’ bugs the hell outta me only rememberin’ bits an’ pieces o’ what I done. Seems like I only recall the shitty stuff…”

He looked pissed, his bottom lip jutting out in the moody way he'd always had, sullen and disgruntled.

“I'll go out to the boat, though,” he said. “Find whatever it is ya thought ya saw. Anythin’ to get rid o’ that fuckin’... _ brat! _ She is gettin’ on my very last nerve. Treats me like a fuckin’ pet.  _ Lucas, do this. Lucas, do that. Come play with me, Lucas. Kiss my ass some, Lucas _ …”

“You think she'll let you though?” asked Zoe.

Lucas shrugged.

“Yeah. Dumb bitch can't get inside my head none no more. Don't know what I'm thinkin’. Prolly just as well, the things I been thinkin’ about her….”

He sniggered again, the same low and nasty sound as before. Zoe could only guess at the malevolent thoughts that went through his mind concerning Eveline.

“You sure changed your tune about her,” observed Zoe. “Few weeks back you was worshippin’ the ground she walked on!”

Lucas looked at her sourly.

“Yeah, well, I had cause to then. I was superhuman thanks to her. Now I'm just some loser fuckin’ slave gotta do whatever she says. Don't know if she can hurt me directly any more, but I know she'll set the old man on me if she suspects anythin’. He still thinks the sun shines outta her ass.”

Lucas hit his fist against the table top next to him, pale face flushed with dull anger.

“Anyone would think you miss bein’ infected,” said Zoe cautiously.

Lucas snorted.

“Who's sayin’ I don't?” he muttered. “Least I didn't have no responsibility over my actions then. No fuckin’ guilt or bad feelin’s. Tell ya, I feel like that motherfucker on  _ Buffy the Vampire Slayer:  _ Angel. Got his soul back an’ suffered all the torments o’ what he did before….”

“But Lucas - It's better that you ain't infected!” protested Zoe. “C’mon...I  _ need _ you. An’ I'd give anythin’ not to be infected any more so I could get outta here.”

“Yeah, well, you always were the goody-two-shoes outta the pair o’ us,” said Lucas. “You would think that!”

“Lucas!”

Her brother frowned, waving a dismissive hand.

“Aw, don't listen to me Zoe. Just the side-effects talkin’. Just wish the asshole that shot me had fuckin’ asked my opinion first. I'll go to the boat this afternoon. See what I can find...”

 

_ Zoe had drawn him a rough map of where the box was located, and Lucas punted out to the boat, left alone with the tumult of his thoughts. _

_ He didn't like how he was feeling these days: Like there was a snarling beast he was unable to control tucked just out of sight in the back of his mind, lurking there ready to burst free. _

_ He'd felt a shadow of this sensation before, he knew. There was a vague recollection of arguing voices snapping back and forth in his subconscious, voices he suspected he might have given names, urging him to do stuff, but though they'd been bothersome they hadn't scared him. Not like this feral thing he felt now. _

_ It reminded him of some kind of animal - a bear, maybe - rabid and grouchy, lurking in the back of a dank cave amongst the stinking bones of its previous kills. It growled back there, a low rumble that threatened death and dismemberment if it was loosed. _

_ Fuckin’ thing. _

_ He was worried he wouldn't be able to keep it back there in the shadows - worried it would break free again as it had done with the girl in the barn. She'd been destroyed by it - guts ripped out, arms torn off. He'd come around with the taste of blood thick on his tongue, his dick still hard and smeared with her gore. _

_ Clouded though his memory of his actions had been, he suspected some things about what he'd done: He thought he may have fucked her corpse - not conventionally but screwing her entrails, his belly squirming against the hot worms of her intestines, and he thought he may have laughed while he did it. _

_ It had taken him an age to clean up: Rinsing himself in buckets of cold water, shivering as he scrubbed flakes of blood and shit from his body. Then clearing her up, tossing her limbs into a sack, taking her remains to the furnace in the basement to get rid of the evidence, hosing the barn floor down and watching the pink water slide down the drains… _

_ The memory sent an involuntary shiver down his spine, stomach clenching as he fought the nausea down. _

_ There might be worse on the boat. More clues as to what crimes he'd committed while under the cold control of Eveline. He had to prepare himself for that possibility. _

 

_ He reached the ship without incident, mooring the pirogue to a jag of twisted metal and traversing the sticky banks of the swamp. The wreckage loomed, like the silhouette of a haunted house, a sinister pinata waiting to spill its secrets. _

_ He passed the twisted mass of trapped  humanity with barely a glance: That hadn't been his doing at least. But he imagined archaeologists finding the ship centuries into the future, the bodies preserved like insects in amber, and wondering what the fuck had gone down here. _

_ Unless of course Eveline had taken over the world by then, her moldy grasp stretching over the globe. Then the hypothetical archaeologists would merely nod sagely, perhaps recognising this place as Ground Zero. _

_ Eveline would have a monument erected here: A temple to her achievements. There would be sacrifices, rituals for her worship. _

_ Lucas stopped, taking deep breaths, pushing the weird thoughts out of his head.  _

_ The acoustics in the place were odd: His footfalls sounded loud in the cramped corridors but didn’t travel far before being swallowed up by the spongy coating of mold on the walls. The corpse of the ship creaked and groaned around him, forever shifting and settling in the soft mud of the bayou. _

_ He was getting a pretty hefty dose of the creeps without the blissful veil of infection clouding his brain, and every sound made him twitch, made his heart beat a little faster. He wound his way through the wreckage in a way that would have seemed aimless to a casual bystander - not that any bystanders here would be casual - but he knew his way, somewhere deep down in the messy filing cabinets of his mind. He’d travelled this ship with Eveline, hidden in its mucky nooks and crannies, chased the child through its damp, choked corridors. _

_ They’d stuck mostly to the underbelly of the ship - the functional areas without luxury - and now Lucas had a suspicion of why that had been: She hadn’t wanted him exploring the upper levels and finding what Zoe had seen. _

_ He knew these areas, but still, when he came across the greasy doors of the galley he stopped in his tracks. _

_ They had been sealed by mold at some point, he knew, but there were finger marks in the black ooze surrounding the door suggesting that someone determined had clawed their way through the goo to open the door, and he realised that someone had been him. His mind cast him a casual picture of him ripping his way through the mold with frenetic glee, lips peeled back from his teeth, giggling and sniggering as a faint voice called from inside and Eveline watched his progress, egging him on. He’d kicked the door open, he thought, and the half-crazed man inside, unhinged from being trapped there for so long, had staggered towards him all but weeping at being saved. But Lucas hadn’t saved him, oh no. In fact, the man’s nightmare had only just begun…. _

_ The door was ajar, and a foul smell was leaking through the crack. Gritting his teeth, Lucas set his palms against the wet surface and pushed. He didn’t put much effort into it, hoping that the door would be too stiff to open, but to his disappointment and not a little dread it swung open easily. _

_ Lucas stepped inside. _

_ The odour of rot grew stronger, the sweetness overpowering and gut-wrenching, and he pulled the neck of his hoodie up over his mouth, his eyes starting to stream as bile rose in his throat. At first glance, the room seemed innocent enough for what had befallen the ship, until he realised that the scum on the walls wasn’t black but brown - the rusty, crumbling brown of long-dried blood. _

_ He couldn’t see the man anywhere, and had time to hope that the reek was spoiled food, but his curiosity spurred him onwards despite his desire to leave without exploring. The smell was strongest by the wall of ovens at the far side of the ship’s kitchen, and Lucas stepped over shards of broken crockery and sinister looking smears to get to them. _

_ They were all shut, but one of them differed from the others in that a chair was angled beneath the handle, wedging it shut, and a runny, brown gruel was trickling from the underside of the door, little rivulets gathering in foul pools on the floor. Lucas stared at this one for a long time, debating within himself whether to investigate or whether to leave…. _

 

_ He puked a lot, reeling off to one side to vomit into one of the industrial steel sinks. Behind him, blackened maggots spilled out of the now-open oven, fat and wriggling from their gluttony but still bent on freedom. _

_ Even without looking at the corpse crammed into the narrow space, Lucas could feel its eyes on him, accusing. _

_ There was no telling what had eventually killed the man - it could have been the skewers, or the flaying, or the multitude of small paring knives still wedged into its roiling flesh, but it also could have been simple starvation. Lucas had looked away quickly, but he’d still seen the claw-marks of frantic scrabbling on the inside of the oven door, the delicate flakes of peeled away fingernails littering the floor. _

_ He heaved until his stomach was empty, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his hoodie before he staggered from the room, half-blinded by the water in his eyes. _

“You had to look, didn’t ya?”  _ he scolded himself, voice thick from the acid burn in his throat.  _ “Couldn’t leave well enough alone, huh, dumbass?”

_ He fled up the rattling metal stairs, leaving the horror behind him, and followed Zoe’s map to the upper decks, bursting into a carpeted hallway with relief. _

 

_ There were pictures on the wall, the occasional wilted pot plant with leaves curling and brown from lack of nourishment, but it was almost cosy up here in comparison. _

_ Feeling more like himself, Lucas strolled along easily, striding over the odd mound of a dead body, sidestepping blots of gathered mold. _

_ Something was nagging at him though - something he felt like he hadn't noticed - but he couldn't tell what it was. _

_ His mouth tasted sour from the puking he'd done, and he stopped to retrieve the bottle of water he'd brought with him, slipping the backpack from his shoulder and crouching on the floor as he delved into its open mouth. The water was there, twinkling in the clothy depths, but so was some other stuff he'd brought just in case. His fingers touched the cold rubber cylinder of his flashlight, and he lifted it to his face without knowing why. _

_ What was the significance? _

_ He thought for a while, cogs in his mind numbed from the shroud of the mold for so long, having to think for himself again. _

“C’mon, Lucas. Think!”  _ he muttered to himself, voice sounding strange in the isolated location. _

_ He'd brought the flashlight….because there were no working lights on the ship...but...he hadn't gotten it out. Why? _

_ Because he could see in the fucking dark. _

_ Lucas lifted his head and looked around him. He could see the mildew on the walls. See the simple design of the abstract painting hanging askew just above him. See the grain of the fake wood of the little table beside him. _

_ He could see it all even though there was no light. _

_ He replaced the flashlight thoughtfully. He wasn't sure what it meant. He hadn't even thought about the fact that his vision had been so perfect when he was infected - had just taken it as a matter of course - and now it seemed he'd been putting on lights in the barn out of reflex rather than need. _

_ But he was cured. Was his night-vision just a hangover from the cure -  an after-effect that hadn't faded? He didn't know. _

_ Lucas snagged his water bottle, unscrewing the lid and gulping down greedy mouthfuls. He'd think about it when he got back. _

 

_ The open safe was how Zoe had described it, its contents just visible through the gap in the door. _

_ The box was a shallow square, it's surface matt black, it's lid hinged. _

_ He flipped the lid up and stared at the contents, and eventually his mouth curved into a smile. _

“Nice job, Zoe,”  _ he said in the creeping gloom. _ “Reckon this'll be useful as you thought…”

_ Handling it carefully, he slid the heavy container into his backpack. It was a tight fit, and the zip strained it's metal toothed mouth around it, but he managed to get most of it in even if one edge protruded. _

_ Time to get back. _

 

_ He’d been too cocky - that's why he fell. _

_ He'd been trotting down a flight of steps, mind busy with the possibilities of what he carried, and the next thing he knew the soles of his sneakers had skidded, legs shooting out from under him, tailbone hitting the edge of the step behind him and he'd gone plummeting down the metal staircase hitting every single fucking step on the way. _

_ He'd rolled as he tumbled, his head bouncing against a wall and sending sparks shooting across his vision, and there had been a dull crack that had reverberated through his body, making him limp, making him a rag doll. _

_ And now he lay at the bottom, back twisted unnaturally, unable to move. _

_ He rolled his eyes, looking around him, panic rising like a small scrabbling creature in his chest. _

“Aw shit….”

_ He blinked - he could do that at least - and struggled against the numbness that had overtaken him. He concentrated hard on moving the hand that was stretched out in front of him, and saw his pinky finger twitch but nothing more. _

_ He was hoping against hope that his immobility was just from shock, but he'd heard that crack, like a whip in his spine, and self-pitying tears rose in his eyes. _

_ He'd broken his fucking back. After all the shit he'd gone through with Eveline, he'd broken his back because he'd slipped on some stairs. It wasn't  _ fair!

_ He moaned, biting down on his tongue, a pain he could feel that was somehow reassuring to him, and managed to move his head slightly. _

_ Would Zoe come looking for him if he didn't come back? _

_ Would  _ Eveline?

_ He didn't want to think about the consequences of that one. _

_ And how long would it be before either of them sent out a search party? How long would he have to lie there, helpless, possibly shitting and pissing himself, before help came? _

_ He closed his eyes, gorging his senses on what he was able to feel: The cold metal under his face. The green smell of  the swamp mingled with the damp, tinny one of the mold-laden shipwreck. The taste of blood on his tongue and the sounds of the hulk settling around him, a constant background whisper. _

 

_ He didn't know how long he'd lain there, but sensation started to flood back to his stricken limbs. It started as a tingle, a warm hum of pins and needles tormenting his toes and fingertips before spreading to his hands and feet. It was maddening in one way, but made hope leap, knocking aside the solid dread that had crouched in his chest. _

_ He focussed on the outstretched hand again, watching his fingers move, and amused himself by drumming out F-U-C-K Y-O-U in Morse code on the chilly floor, rejoicing as the digits became more nimble. _

_ Hell yeah! _

_ As his strength returned he moved his fingers in a more complex pattern, bringing his thumb into play, imagining he was composing an email on the keyboard of his laptop: _

“Dear Eveline, It has come to my attention that you ain't nothing but a fucked up little bitch with a God-complex and I regret to inform you that I ain't taking your shit no more. In fact - “

_ His other arm swung round to join it, and he bared his teeth in a triumphant grin. _

“ -  I intend to put an end to your bullshit forthwith and ASAP. Yours sincerely….”

_ He lifted his head. _

“Lucas Jeremiah Baker. Period. Laugh emoji. Send.”

_ He pushed himself up onto his elbows with a grunt. His lower body was still sluggish, but he managed to twist it and push his legs forward, his knees bunching beneath him till he was face down on the floor with his ass in the air. He stayed like that for a while, muscles spasming, until he was able to get himself on his hands and he panted on all fours, breath hissing between his teeth. _

“Fuckin’ life in me yet, Eveline. You better fuckin’ believe it! Aw yeah, ya can't keep Lucas down!”

_ Motivational speeches pouring out of him, Lucas inched down the corridor, shuffling on his hands and knees, eventually gaining enough strength to get to his feet. His legs wobbled under him, but he staggered down the corridor with a hand braced against the wall, sliding along it and gaining speed as he went. _

_ By the time he hit the outside air, blinking in the sudden onslaught of natural light, he was walking unsupported, a mere tremble remaining in his knees as a reminder. _

 

_ He checked the contents of the box, and it appeared to be undamaged, the padded inner walls protecting its precious cargo, but the irony of the fact that it was likely the hard corners of the box that had injured him wasn't lost on him. _

_ He thought about what had happened as he paddled back to the house, arms moving easily as they steered the pirogue, and could only draw two conclusions: _

 

  * __The shock of the fall had paralysed him temporarily, until his body had recovered and his sheer, stubborn willpower had gotten him moving again, or;__


  * _He'd broken his back - actually snapped his spine - and it had healed whilst he lay there._



 

_ Of the two options, the first was more likely, but his gut-feeling was that it was the second one that had actually occurred. He'd heard the break. He'd  _ felt  _ it, Goddammit. It had snapped him in half like a wishbone. _

_ Which only meant one thing: Eveline may not have a hold over him any more, but he still had his regenerative abilities. _

_ The thought was darkly exciting. _

 

_ He stopped off at his work station in the barn before calling in on Zoe. _

_ He had an idea, one that would have seemed flat-out dumb to anybody else but one that wouldn't leave him till he'd tested it, and he intended to go through with the experiment. _

_ He stood before his buzzsaw, the new blade sprinkled with sawdust, it's teeth sharp as a shark’s and just as dangerous, psyching himself up. _

“This is stoopid,”  _ he told himself, but still he flicked on the switch and watched the saw spring into life, blade whirling so fast it was a blur. _

_ He rolled up his sleeve, considering his arm, settling finally on one solitary finger for the sacrifice. His middle finger - his “fuck you” finger. The best of all his fingers. _

_ Taking a deep breath, Lucas clamped his teeth together and extended his hand. _

 

Lucas had to kick the door to make his presence known, but he'd done it gently, using the toe of his shoe rather than the sole, and calling “Knock knock!” at the same time.

He'd fixed the door a couple of days previously, and Zoe unlocked it  without fear. Bad Lucas wouldn't have knocked in any fashion.

He had his hands full, which explained the eccentric mode of requesting entry, and he grappled the box through the door, fitting it's awkward angles through.

“You found it!”

“Course I did….”

His swagger was back, even though Zoe had barely noticed it had been away, and his general demeanour seemed to be upbeat and positive.

He was grinning as he set the box on the table, presenting it with a flourish, and Zoe tipped up the lid without delay, eager to see what was inside.

She frowned as she surveyed the contents, taking in the objects and the container without really understanding what it all was.

“Okay….” she said finally. “What is it, and can we use it?”

Lucas had thrown himself down on the couch, leaning back with his hands behind his head, looking pleased with himself.

“It's a weapon,” he declared. “Kinda. Against Evie. An’ we can use it, I think, as long as we get whatever it is that's missin’.”

Zoe sat down, still puzzling it out.

“That... _ thing, _ ” she said, pointing it out.”It looks like somethin’ else, somethin’ I already got, but different.”

Lucas leaned forward, craning his head around the lid to look inside.

“What,  _ that _ ?” he said, pointing at the shrivelled mummy-like thing curled up in one of the depressions inside the box.

“Uh-huh. Took it off Mia a while back. It's one o’ the two things we'd need to make a serum to cure us.”

“What's the second thing? Just outta interest.”

“An arm,” said Zoe. “Eveline gave it to Momma, an’ Momma stashed it upstairs in the old house. Was what I was tryin’ to get when Momma unleashed her bugs on me. You remember that?”

Lucas frowned.

“Almost….” he said. “Not quite, though.”

“Anyway. This looks kinda similar….”

“Show me whatcha got,” said Lucas.

Zoe hesitated, and Lucas raised a questioning eyebrow.

“No offence, Lucas, but I ain't really comfortable with you knowin’ where I keep it. Not with you bein’ so...changeable…”

Lucas stared at her, lips going thin, and for a moment she thought he was going to be pissed, but then his expression relaxed and he sighed.

“Yeah, guess I can see yer point,” he admitted reluctantly. “Prolly don't matter none anyways.”

Zoe looked at the inside of the lid. There was a note pinned to it which she read out loud.

 

**_“E-Necrotoxin_ ** _   
_ _ Destroys cells of any subject based on the E-series bioweapon model. _ _   
_ _ Use only for disposal of E-series assets. _ _   
_ __ The toxin must first be stimulated before use. Do this by placing a sample of an E-series' cells into the necrotoxin container.”

 

“Eveline must be the E-series then,” said Lucas.

“She is,” said Zoe. “Mia told me. Thing I got is from the D-series. What kinda cells d’you think we'll need to make Evie-poison?”

Lucas shrugged.

“Pretty sure it ain't gonna be a lock o’ her hair. That'd be too easy. Guess it's worth a try, though.”

He peered into the box again.

“Looks like you put the cells in  _ there _ \- “ he pointed to a depression in the left side of the box. “ - an’ the stuff comes out  _ here. _ ”

Zoe followed his finger to the other side, noticing his hand as she did. The middle finger had a fresh-looking, pink scar just above his knuckle, and there was blood under his fingernail.

“What did you do to yer hand?” she asked.

Lucas glanced at it, a small smile playing over his lips.

“That's nothin’,” he said. “Just had a little accident.”

Zoe didn't press him any further, not liking the way he grinned.

“Where are we gonna keep this?” she asked, gesturing towards the box.

“I'll take care o’ it,” said Lucas. “This trailer ain't secure enough.”

He was right, and he'd been the one to fetch it, but Zoe felt uncomfortable letting it out of her clutches.

“Well. Okay,” she said. “Least I found out what was under the bridge…”

Lucas frowned.

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?” he demanded.

“Oh, nothin’,” said Zoe. “Just a memory I had. About needin’ somethin’ under a bridge.”

“It weren't under the bridge, though,” said Lucas. “Nowhere near it. Guess yer memory ain't shit.”

 

Zoe hadn't wanted to tell Lucas about her dream, thinking it likely he'd scoff at her, but since she'd been shut in the cells with Fatima she had considerably more faith in her dreams than before. If only because Fatima had.

And Fatima - even if it was only through Zoe's own subconscious - had tried to tell her something! She was sure of it.

She didn't want to ask Lucas to go back - didn't want to push his weirdness up any more notches. He'd been oddly secretive since he'd gotten back from his mission, making her think he was keeping stuff from her. What had happened on the Annabelle, she wondered? What had he seen?

Alone in her trailer, Zoe idly leafed through the baby book, eyes scanning the pages but not taking in any of the information. Part of her mind was taking in the pictures and she watched as the images flipped past: A drawing of an embryo; an anatomical diagram of a cervix; a photo of a smiling woman talking to a smiling doctor with a stethoscope around his neck.

Zoe skipped some of the more graphic diagrams with a shudder. She wasn't quite prepared for a cross-section of a breast showing the mammary glands, which looked somehow alien, and even though she knew she should be focussing on the early stages of pregnancy she couldn't resist turning to the later pages, past the cringe inducing talk of dilation and episiotomies. She couldn't bring herself to imagine the birth, as whenever she did she had an image of herself lying on Lucas's work bench in the barn whilst Lucas held out his hands like a receiver in a football game, ready to catch.

She looked at the pictures of babies instead: Newborns with red, scrunched up faces swaddled in blankets; plump older babies with gummy grins and fat cheeks. There were pictures of babies drinking formula from bottles, and she grinned as she came across a photo of a woman breastfeeding, her robe slipped off her shoulder, one breast partially exposed.

“Yeah, there's your titty shot, Lucas…”

She turned a few more pages to a section about weaning, and sighed. There was no point looking this far ahead, although the babies were cute with pureed peas smeared around their mouths. Weaning was way ahead in the future, and Zoe couldn't afford to get sidetracked.

Just as she was about to close the book, she stopped. There was a section about making your own baby food, and the picture depicted a woman about to open a fridge door and deposit a stack of tiny Tupperware containers inside.

Zoe stared at it, uncertain as to why it had caught her attention.

She looked at the woman, immaculately dressed with her hair in place, balancing her mini tower of baby meals.

She looked at the fridge: white and new, with little alphabet magnets in the door that spelled out B-A-B-Y and L-O-V-E.

She frowned. There was a memory there somewhere but she couldn't quite pin it down.

Sighing, she shut the book with a snap and wandered over to her bed, picking up her blanket and wrapping it round her. She was tired again. She knew now that this was part of early pregnancy and if she were being honest she welcomed it - nothing cured boredom like a good, old-fashioned nap and it wasn't as if she had to do anything.

Saying a small prayer to whichever God or Goddess it was that gave pregnant women good dreams, Zoe settled down.

 

_ She was in the main house, and her first reaction was to run, but it was a dream so of course she did no such thing. Dream Zoe had no sense of self-preservation. _

_ Still, she stood in the hallway without moving, unwilling to continue around the corner to see what horrors awaited. _

_ The air in front of her face seemed a shy and foggy, as if she had some kind of veil over her head, and her surroundings were sepia toned and dull. It was like looking at an old photograph. She wanted to wave her hands in front of her to disperse the grainy quality of her vision, but she didn't move because she was aware that someone was standing next to her. _

_ It was Fatima. Of course it was. Blood tears ran down her face and the handle of the machete jutted out of her forehead, making her look like a sinister unicorn, but she was smiling even though it was a sad attempt. _

_ “Why is it so weird?” asked Zoe. _

_ Her voice sounded muffled and fuzzy. _

_ “Because this is a memory,” replied Fatima. “You've been confused and I wanted to show you, but I haven't got much time before the child realises I'm here.” _

_ “Are you a ghost?” asked Zoe. _

_ Suddenly it seemed imperative that she knew. _

_ Fatima shook her head but not, Zoe thought, as an answer to her question. It was a gesture of regret. _

_ “I wish I could stay and explain,” said Fatima. “But we don't have time for explanations. She is coming. Can you hear?” _

_ Fatima held up one finger to quash any vocal response and Zoe listened. _

_ There was a faint noise in the distance, growing slowly and gradually louder - footsteps, heavy and ponderous like a giant’s, accompanied by a rushing wind that swelled the longer they stood there. _

_ “Is that -?” Zoe began, but Fatima’s eyes grew wide with fear and she put her hand to Zoe’s mouth, cold fingers sealing her lips. _

_ “Don't say her name!” she hissed. “She is searching, and her name calls her. Quickly, now - Come with me.” _

_ Fatima took her hand, and the contact gave strength to Zoe’s numb limbs. She began to walk forward, down the hall and turning the corner. _

_ There were voices up ahead that she judged were coming from the kitchen, and the sound of her mother’s made her steps falter. _

_ “No, it's alright: They can't hurt you here,” said Fatima, squeezing her hand. _

_ Zoe nodded and continued on, steeling herself as they breasted the doorway. _

_ Her mother, Lucas and herself were stood in the kitchen, their figures blurred and indistinct. Zoe looked on in fascination. It was odd seeing herself from the outside, like seeing a stranger with a familiar face, and the only reason she recognised herself was from the clothes she wore. _

_ Was she really that thin and pale? She wondered. _

_ She transferred her gaze to Lucas who was standing next to her, and her dream-heart fluttered uneasily. She didn't like the way her brother was looking at her - intent and suspicious. Which memory was this? Was he about to hurt her? _

_ “What you got in your pocket?” demanded Lucas suddenly. _

_ Dream-Zoe and Memory-Zoe flinched. _

_ “Nothin’,”  the other Zoe protested. _

_ “Yeah, you do!” snapped Lucas, and Zoe watched as her brother lunged at her, his fingers digging into the pocket of her jeans. _

_ “Hey!” _

_ Memory-Zoe tried to shove him away, but he slapped her hands aside. He yanked a scrap of paper out and held it up triumphantly. _

_ “What's this, then, huh?” _

_ Both Zoes peered at it. _

_ “Oh, that!” said Memory-Zoe. “I forgot. That girl gave it to me. It's her father's number. She wanted me to call for help.” _

_ “And you was gonna do it!” spat Lucas. _

_ “No I wasn't! Why would I do that? Holy fuck, will y’all get off my back for once!” _

_ Lucas squinted at the number. _

_ “She said he's rich,” said Memory-Zoe. _

_ Marguerite perked up at that. _

_ “Rich? We could use some money.” _

_ She snatched the paper from her son and pinned it to the fridge with a magnet. _

_ “I'll discuss it with your father. Now you two clear outta here, I gotta fix supper.” _

 

_ The scene froze in place, then reversed, the action playing out backwards before starting off again, replaying Marguerite sticking the scrap of paper  to the fridge door in crawling slow-motion. _

_ Fatima spoke. _

_ “Under the fridge,” she said. “It stayed there a while, then fell down and was kicked underneath. Forgotten. You must find it, Zoe.” _

_ “Fridge. Not bridge,” marvelled Zoe. “Shit….” _

_ Outside, the wind had started to pick up in earnest, creaking the building around them. _

_ “She is nearly here!” said Fatima. “I must go….It's time to wake up, Zoe.” _

_ Fatima leaned forward, snapping her fingers in Zoe's face with a shockingly loud sound. _

 

Zoe woke with a jolt. Someone was banging on the trailer door.

“Who is it?” she called blearily, rolling off the bed.

“It’s me!” called Lucas from outside. “Hurry up, will ya! I don’t want anybody seein’ me!”

Zoe stumbled across the floor and unlocked the door, flinging it open as she rubbed her eyes.

Lucas was at the bottom of the steps with something shrouded in a sheet by his side, looking shiftily over his shoulder back at the house.

“At fuckin’ last!” he grumbled, hefting the weirdly shaped object. “What were you doin’?”

“Sleepin’,” said Zoe, stifling a yawn.

Her sudden awakening and the weird dream had given everything a surreal quality, as though she were still in her dream land watching the proceedings. She reached down to help Lucas with the bulky thing but he brushed her hands away.

“Naw, I ain’t havin’ you liftin’ shit,” he scolded. “Just get outta the way.”

Stepping back Zoe watched him struggle through the door. The thing he carried looked more awkward than heavy, and oddly lumped, and he slid it through lengthways, following it in and closing the door behind him.

“I was diggin’ through the attic for stuff an’ found this,” he said, sounding embarrassed for some reason. “Thought you could use it. Brought it over ‘fore any mold got on it…”

Zoe grabbed the sheet veiling it and pulled it off, stepping back to look at what he’d brought.

It was an old bassinet, a wicker one on a stand with a hood over it from which two tiny shoes hung suspended from ribbons - one pink and one blue.

“It’s kinda scruffy lookin’, but it should be okay. Might have ta pick up a new mattress though. That one’s gotta be over twenty years old….”

Lucas trailed off.

“You okay?”

Zoe nodded, unable to speak. She was embarrassed by the sudden tears that had sprung to her eyes, and her throat had closed up. She didn’t know what was affecting her so badly: The reality of her situation kicking in; the sight of her and Lucas's old bassinet bringing up sweet memories of a happy childhood; or the sheer fact of Lucas’s thoughtfulness in bringing it to her....

Lucas took a step back from her as if her emotions were likely to spill over onto him, and his nose wrinkled in a momentary sneer before he caught himself. His face seemed to fluctuate between disgust and concern, as if the two emotions were battling within him, and Zoe's survival instincts kicked in, smoothing her frown and drying her tears.

“Thank you, Lucas,” she said, stretching a smile across her mouth.

She saw her brother's hunched shoulders relax and he touched her elbow awkwardly.

“S’okay,” he said. “Reckon it'll do?”

“It'll do me fine, Lucas.”

He nodded.

“I better go. Eveline wants me to play with her,” he said sourly, his lip curling. “Goin’ over to the old house, with all the bugs an’ the fuckin’ damp. Thought I was gonna get me some time to myself too, with Momma in the greenhouse an’ the old man buildin’ some shit down in the guesthouse basement.”

He smirked.

“Was gonna go an’ visit Mia,” he said slyly. “See if she was feelin’ lonely….”

“Lucas…..”

Zoe shook her head, feigning exasperation, but her mind was racing. Neither of her parents were in the house.

“Anyways, guess I'll see ya later,” he said, heading for the door.

He left, and Zoe reached a decision.

 

She waited till she saw her brother and Eveline leave the main house.

Evie was holding Lucas's hand and skipping alongside him as he slouched along, talking animatedly, waving her free hand around as though she were excited.

Once they were out of sight, Zoe ventured out of her trailer and scampered across the grass to the porch.

The back door was ajar, and she took this as a good omen for her success: She was afraid it might have been.locked.

The main hall was silent and empty, and she crossed it without lingering. It hadn't been very long since the place had been cleaned in preparation for Rosalie’s visit but already the junk and dust was starting to accumulate again.

The hallway smelled bad, rank with her mother's foul cooking, and the smell only got worse as she neared the kitchen.

Putting her hand over her nose and mouth in a crude attempt to filter out the worst of the reek Zoe nudged open the kitchen door and peered inside.

Something was bubbling unsupervised in a pot on the stove, a greyish lumpy stew with a greasy scum on top, and Zoe tried to avoid looking at the contents in too much detail, although sour spit flooded her mouth nevertheless, her throat hitching in a threatened retch.

Not wanting to spend any more time than necessary in the vile space, Zoe hurried over to the fridge and got down on her knees. The floor was disgusting, and she made a mental note to scrub her jeans when she got back to the trailer.

Putting her hands on the floor she lowered her head, tilting it to the side and peering under the fridge.

If the floor was bad, the area under the fridge was ten times worse, brown sticky gunk forming a gooey crust that made her gag. But she couldn't see the paper.

She leaned lower, looking further along, and at that point the air shifted in the room, a stale waft stirring her hair.

Zoe scrambled to her feet.

Mia stood in the doorway, regarding her with dull, dead eyes, her arms hanging limp by her sides.

“Fuck! Mia, you scared the shit outta me!” gasped Zoe, putting her hand to her chest.

Her heart banged uncomfortably fast, making her feel light headed, and she leaned against the fridge for support.

Mia didn't reply, but stared at Zoe with her jaw drooping, mouth hung partially open. She was a mess. Even under the strain of the last few months she had attempted to keep herself in some kind of order but it seemed she'd given up of late.

Her clothes were dirty, and her hair hung in greasy ropes around her face. But the worst thing was the blank expression - devoid of any hope or animation, her personality crushed by the weight of Eveline’s will.

Zoe took a step toward her, horrified by the change in the person who had nearly been her friend.

“Mia, honey? I know you ain't s’posed to talk to me, but at least lemme know you're okay…” said Zoe gently.

Mia’s mouth closed, her lower lip jutting out miserably, and a sheen of water welled in her eyes.

She shook her head, hardly moving it, and at last some emotion returned to her expression - despair, with a hefty dose of sorrow for good measure.

Mia took a breath, apparently struggling to say something, but as she did a change came over her. Her head moved oddly on her neck, like she was trying to ease a crick in it, and her lips thinned, pulling back from her yellow teeth.

“You're not meant to be over here…” she hissed, her voice crackly from lack of use. “What are you up to, Zoe?”

Zoe recoiled, shocked by the suddenness of her transformation, but Mia darted forward, grabbing her wrist in a cruel grip, thrusting her face up to Zoe’s. Her breath smelled foul as it washed over her, and Mia cackled at Zoe's grimace.

“Stealing from your family, Zoe? That isn’t very nice!”

Zoe didn’t stop to think, just clenched her hand into a fist and punched Mia in the face.

Mia’s head rocked back, the startled look she gave Zoe worth the pain in Zoe’s knuckles, and Zoe followed it up with a hard shove to the chest, her palms squishing against Mia’s breasts.

“Fuck off!’ snapped Zoe.

Mia staggered, her chin dropping, and when she lifted her head again Zoe prepared herself for retaliation, eyeing the door behind her and judging the distance, but Mia looked distraught, her lips forming an O of shock.

“Oh shit… Zoe, I didn’t mean -”

“Shut up Mia. An’ get outta here. I don’t need this right now.”

“But -”

Zoe lifted her fist again, her knuckles stinging, and brandished it in Mia’s face.

“Y’all may not have meant it, but I do. Get!”

With a little yelp Mia took a step backwards, pouting at Zoe’s threat, but despite Zoe’s own feelings of sympathy towards Mia’s predicament she didn’t back down. Mia was too unpredictable to trust and she wanted her out of there.

Mia turned, sobbing, and ran from the room.

Shaking from the surge of adrenaline, Zoe lowered her fist, collecting her thoughts. She felt bad for Mia - the woman had been the closest thing to an ally she’d had in the godforsaken place for a while - but she’d be lying if she didn’t also admit she felt a thrill of triumph. She hadn’t been in a fight since high school, when she’d battered Louise Washburn for calling her a slut. Buck-toothed bitch had had a hard head, but Zoe had bounced it off the asphalt and given her a split lip for good measure. She remembered Lucas watching from a distance, crowing with laughter as she kicked Louise’s ass around the parking lot.

“Haven’t lost it, Zoe,” she muttered to herself and turned back to the fridge.

She got back down, squinting in the poor light, and when the air moved again she only sighed.

“Look, Mia, if you’ve come back to apologise you can just -”

She stopped at the heavy footfall - too heavy for it to be Mia, and froze. Her father’s boots came into view in the corner of her eye, and Zoe felt the muscles in her arms drain of strength. She had to fight her own body to push herself up as her instincts told her to just curl into a ball and cower.

“Daddy…?”

Her father looked down at her with that expression she’d come to know and loathe - seemingly calm but with the promise of anger beneath.

“Thought I felt some kind of commotion over here,” he rumbled. “Eveline told me there was a disturbance, too, and the child’s never wrong. What are you doin’ over here, Zoe?”

Shaking, Zoe got to her feet, gritting her teeth to stop them from chattering.

“Was just lookin’ for food, Daddy,” she whimpered, hating the meek sound of her voice.

Jack sighed, heartbreakingly reminding her of all the times when she was little and he’d tell her he wasn’t mad, only disappointed.

“What in the world are we gonna do with you, Zoe?” he asked. “You won’t eat with us. You sleep out in that old trailer. You won’t even talk to us anymore. And now you come in here to steal from us.”

His voice was deceptively quiet, but Zoe didn’t trust it.

“I-I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said. “I’ll go now….”

“What, you think you’re gonna get outta here without some kind o’ repercussions, Zoe? Huh? Surely you know me better than that. Y’know, I hardly ever had to discipline you as a child. Lucas, now - Lucas was a different matter. That boy was always up to no good. Had to give him a whuppin’ more times than I could count. Never seemed to discourage him none, though…”

He chuckled as though the memory was a fond one.

“An’ you always cried for him. Such a tender hearted child. Tried to take the blame for him more ‘n once if I recall, but I knew it weren’t you. Had to be the devil in Lucas.’

Zoe shuddered, memories flooding back of standing outside the door as her father took the belt to Lucas for some infraction or another. There had been more than one occasion where her father had punished Lucas for something she’d done - Jack would never believe her version of events - and she’d force herself to listen to the dull  _ whap! _ of the belt across the seat of her brothers jeans as a kind of solidarity - every blow, every shriek and sob wrung from Lucas.

Now Jack was looking at her with grim determination.

“How you’ve changed from that sweet little girl I used to know,” he said, his regret so convincing for a moment she almost believed him, but his eyes - his eyes were cold and hard and relishing their exchange, feeding off her fear.

Still, there was anger in her for a moment on top of her terror and she wanted to scream into his face that she hadn’t been the one to change -  _ he  _ had. But she swallowed that urge - forced it down into the roiling nausea of anxiety to dissolve in the acid depths.

“Seems it’s finally your turn,” he said.

For a moment Zoe thought he was going to take his belt off, but predictably he raised his arm, fist balling, looking huge in her periphery. Zoe wanted to run but her feet felt glued to the sticky floor, and she tensed, narrowing her eyes in some meagre preparation for the assault, but when the blow came it wasn’t to her face: It was to her stomach.

 

One punch. That was all. Then he left her, stepping over her to check the pot on the stove and sniff at the contents appreciatively before turning away and lumbering into the other room. She heard him settle himself on the couch with a grunt, and the click of the tv being turned on.

The pain took a while to manifest: At first she merely couldn’t move, all the breath seeming to have exited her body through her very pores, leaving her an empty sack, but as she lay there it began to creep in: Dull at first, getting sharper, it’s edges honed and carving a hole into her lower belly. She didn’t even have the energy to cry, but lay with her cheek on the filthy floor, arms crossed over her abdomen as the pain formed a point that sent a spear into her.

Zoe hadn’t prayed for a long time, but now she did after a fashion - not necessarily to God but to whoever might be out there listening. Grandma Baker, perhaps, or Fatima. It was a simple prayer, but imbued with so much intensity that she didn’t know how anyone could ignore it.

_ Please please please please pleasepleaseplease _

It was then that she saw it: something jammed in the muck under the fridge - a small scrap of paper, crumpled and torn. She focussed on it, trying to ignore the pain. In the living room the sound of hissing static stopped and started as Jack flicked through the channels, not seeming to notice or care that there was no signal. 

Slowly, summoning her strength, Zoe reached out and snagged the piece of paper, teasing it out from under the fridge with her fingertips. The writing on it was smudged but still legible, though she was in too much pain to read it. Instead, she closed her eyes, crumpling the paper further into a tiny ball and stuffing it deep down in the recesses of her pocket.

Footsteps resounded through the hallway, light skippy ones along with heavier scuffing ones, and Eveline’s excited chatter filtered through.

“...and tomorrow we can go back and do it again. That will be cool, right Lucas?”

“Uh-huh,” came Lucas’s voice, noncommittal and only barely disguising his discontent.

“If you want, we can -” Eveline’s voice cut off as they drew level with the doorway, and Zoe squeezed her eyes shut tighter, not wanting to see the little bitch’s face, but she couldn’t blot out the sound of her.

‘Oh! I  _ was  _ right….Daddy Jack, what was Zoe up to?”

Jack’s voice, light and indulgent.

“Oh, I don’t know, punkin. Stealin’ food, she said. Don’t worry, I dealt with her.”

Eveline’s footfalls came closer, and Zoe sensed the child staring down at her.

“Why is she bleeding from  _ there _ ?” she asked, voice full of disgust, and Zoe felt a coldness come over her. She’d felt heat between her legs, hot liquid seeping into the fabric of her jeans, but she had tried to convince herself that it was pee, jolted from her bladder by the trauma.

“Lucas, come look!” called Eveline, voice bright and curious, wanting to share her new discovery.

Lucas coughed, a choked noise that seemed to catch in his throat.

“Uh...I gotta….I can’t, Eveline. That’s girl’s stuff….”

Eveline snorted.

“ _ Men! _ You’re so delicate…”

She giggled, then turned on her heel, apparently losing interest.

“Can I watch tv with you, Daddy Jack?” she asked.

“Course you can, punkin. You can sit right here on my knee!”

He sounded jolly, like a department store Santa, and their chatter faded into the background as Zoe lost consciousness.

 

Feet moving around her.

She opened her eyes blearily, seeing her mother’s shoes near her face.

Chair legs scraping against the wood floor as her family sat at the table.

“Hope you’re all hungry!” trilled Marguerite from somewhere miles above. “And Lucas, I expect you to eat a decent meal for once. You’re waistin’ away! Don’t know what is wrong with your appetite lately…”

Lucas grunted. Zoe felt a swish of air as her mother stepped over her head, and then she greyed out.

 

They ate. There was little talking apart from Eveline chirruping away, and afterwards they all parted ways, going off to their different activities, the dirty plates left on the table for the flies.

Zoe tried to lift herself up onto her elbow, but a cramp twisted in her and she moaned as she fell back down. She could wriggle along the floor, she thought, like a worm, but the effort seemed monumental. She sobbed weakly, silent tears trickling onto the floor, and then there were hands beneath her head, lifting it up.

“Aw, shit, Zoe….shitshitshit...What the fuck did you come into the house for? If you wanted food I’d o’ gotten it for ya! Oh, fuck….”

“My baby…..” Zoe wailed, her words a useless mush flopping from her mouth.

“It don’t look good,” said Lucas. “But reckon the bleedin’s stopped. Can ya get up?”

She managed to shake her head, and suddenly she was in the air, Lucas lifting her easily off the floor. His face was pale, eyebrows scrunched together in a frown, and he couldn’t meet her eye.

“C’mon, sis,’ he said. “Better hurry an’ get ya back to the trailer….”

He carried her from the room, turning to fit her through the doorway, and she leaned her head against the narrow bone of his shoulder, watching the walls move past, thinking about the paper in her pocket.

Whoever Fatima’s father was, she hoped he was as powerful as Fatima claimed, because she wanted Eveline dead.


	24. Intrigue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas is in need of distraction and seeks out Mia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been far too long since I updated this but I'm never going to abandon it. I've put far too much into it of myself.
> 
> Now I've got Karma's Bitch on the go there will only be more stuff to add to this too.

Lucas had done the best he could for Zoe, but that wasn’t much. He’d wanted to help clean her up, but that particular action came under the heading of Things He Didn't Feel Qualified to Do.

She’d bled a great deal, the crotch of her jeans soaked through, and though he normally wasn’t squeamish about the sight of blood it gave him a strange, awful feeling looking at the rusty stains. It had blown his mind when he was a kid and he'd first found out girls bled from  _ there _ anyway, but knowing the particular reason Zoe was bleeding fucked him up.

He’d left at her insistence, reluctant but not about to argue. In truth, he was relieved. He’d been prepared to sit there and hold her hand, offer her all the sympathy he could, but he felt awkward and uncomfortable and when she’d told him to go, he had done so with just the right amount of resistance before fleeing gratefully.

It had affected him, though: seeing her curled up on the floor, clutching at her belly. She hadn’t cried, which he was surprised at, but her eyes were hollow and despairing, and having to sit there with the rest of his fucked up “family”, pretending to eat, knowing that she lay there on the kitchen floor….well, it hadn’t been easy.

The old man hadn’t realised the significance of what he’d done. Neither had Eveline. His mother had barely spared her a glance at all. But Lucas had known, oh yes, and seeing his father happily champing away on the sloppy shit his mother had served whilst Zoe lost her baby because of him had given Lucas a sick feeling inside that he hadn’t been able to shift.

He still felt sick now, unable to stop thinking, anger roiling inside him like okrah swirling in a gumbo. He wanted to get the chainsaw from downstairs and take that old bastard apart, but it would have little effect. He’d heal, and come right back for Lucas.

He felt restless, unable to work on anything in his barn, and paced the floor, wearing a path from one end to the other. He wasn't used to all these emotions again. If Zoe was to be believed he'd been under for a mere few months but his soul felt raw now, exposed and fresh like new skin growing over a sore. He needed something: Some kind of distraction. Something to take his mind off things.

Finally, when he was just about to give up and maybe smash some shit up, he had an idea.

He decided to do what he’d intended to do earlier, but hadn’t had the chance.

 

He encountered Mia in the upstairs hall, shuffling her feet along the floor with great concentration and he stared at her for a while, considering.

She reminded him of Jack Nicholson at the end of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s nest: dopey and lobotomised, completely detached from reality. Except when she flipped - then she became a screeching witch, full of dreadful animation and violent activity. The first time she'd done it after he'd been shot by the masked man he'd reacted in panic, cringing as she came towards him with her clawed hands reaching for his face and he'd been given a flashback to that time she'd attacked him and done her very best to gouge his eyes out.

He’d squawked in alarm, shoving her away from him and looking around to see everyone else’s reaction.

There was none: His mother continued to rock back and forth in her chair humming; his father didn't stop sharpening the blade of his shovel with loving attention; Eveline kept on drawing, sparing a mere glance of vague curiosity before turning back to her crayons.

Lucas had been jumpy still, understanding on some level that his response might give him away but unable to be quite so blase. When she'd come at him again he'd pushed her with more force, making her stagger, and she'd given up on him, stalking off with her spine twisting weirdly and her head rolling on her neck.

Since then Lucas had witnessed both states frequently and the transition no longer spooked him. Just crazy Mia, dissociating and attacking.

She'd let herself go, too: She was dirty, and a strong odour came from her. But Lucas had never minded a bit of ripeness on a woman. Stinky pits and dull hair and oily skin didn't put him off. Pussy was pussy at the end of the day.

He reached a decision.

“Hey, Mia,” he said, watching her head twitch, empty eyes swinging round to look at him.

She didn't speak, her dry chapped lips not even moving in response.

“How ya doin’?” he asked kindly.

She stopped her shuffling and stared, uncertain.

“Lookin’ good, Mia,” he lied, taking a few casual steps in her direction.

She didn't recoil, which he took as a good sign.

“Reckon ya been awful lonely of late,” he told her. “Look like you could use a friend right about now.”

Her lips trembled, emotion rising up in her eyes and flooding them with easy tears. Lucas had to suppress a smirk: This was going to be easier than he thought.

He moved closer still, cautiously taking his hands from the pockets of his hoodie and holding them up slightly as he approached her, like she was a flighty animal he didn't want to spook.

“You want me to be that friend?” he asked quietly. “I know y’all ain't allowed to chat to Zoe no more. So how ‘bout me? That sound good to you? Don’t reckon Eveline would mind none either, what with Rosalie outta the way.”

A tiny motion of her head, a suggestion of a nod that looked involuntary, and the expression on her face now appeared to be one of gratitude.

He allowed himself a smile now, keeping it open and friendly, continuing to take those small steps till he was right in front of her.

“Ya wanna start now? Huh? Wanna start bein’ friendly now?”

He had the dimmest of memories of screwing her before. Brief little snapshots of time, glimpses into the past that were blurry and vague and sepia toned. But he remembered feeling powerless in her presence, desperate, out of his depth. Things had changed now, though. He had his mind back and she seemed to be losing hers, so that put him at an advantage.

Slowly, he moved his hand to brush a greasy lock of hair away from her face. He saw the muscles around her mouth tighten slightly, her eyes flaring as if she were about to flip, but then she seemed to relax, allowing the brief caress he bestowed on her.

He let his fingertips touch her cheek. Her skin had erupted into pimples at some point, but the breakout didn't bother him.

“Let's be friends, Mia,” he said. “I look after you, an’ you look after me. I can help you. I can get you stuff. You like cookies or candy? I can get you that….”

She blinked, then spoke, labouring over the words like they cost her an enormous effort.

“Ice.. ..cream….” she said.

Lucas grinned.

“Ice cream, huh? You like Ben an’ Jerry’s? Maybe a little Chunky Monkey? Strawberry Cheesecake?”

Her eyes widened, and a tremor travelled through her at the suggestion.

“Oh….” She murmured.

“That ain't a problem, Mia. I'll get you some ice cream. That'll be nice, won't it?”

He moved his hand, lowering it, letting it settle on her waist. He stroked the area above her hip soothingly.

“An’ what can I expect in return? A little company, maybe? A little comfort?”

She frowned, apparently puzzled, and he took the plunge, cupping her crotch through her jeans, digging his thumb against the seam. She made a little noise, but otherwise made no move to stop him.

“There….” he said. "That feel good?"

He inched closer, face right up to hers, and she gazed at him with wonder.

“We did this before, didn't we?” he reminded her. “You remember that?”

He worked his thumb against her, flexing it softly, watching her face. Her eyelids drooped, lips parting, and her head tilted back slightly.

“Yuh....”

The small affirmative was good enough for him.

Lucas backed her up gently, jostling her until her shoulders touched the wall and wasted no more time, flicking open the button of her jeans and easing the zip down. She stared uncomprehendingly as he forced his hand into the tight enclosure, wiggling his fingers behind the waistband of her panties and down till his fingertips met the damp gusset.

“Yeah, this here feels nice, right?” he prompted, slipping a finger into the groove between her pussy lips, seeking out the nub of her clit.

She emitted a little gasp and he started to rub, pressing himself against her to let his burgeoning hard-on grind against her hip. She slumped down as he worked his fingers lower, slipping two fingers into the swampy depths of her cunt, using the knuckle of his thumb to continue his task further up.

He also remembered little about his experiences with Rosalie - just a montage of delightful images tumbled together - but it appeared his hands retained some kind of muscle-memory and they busied themselves without any conscious thought from him, stroking and probing, teasing the swollen bud and delving into her pussy eagerly.

She responded favourably, eyelids fluttering, tip of her tongue creeping out to wet her lips, and she slowly raised her hand to grab a hold of him. He thought she might push him away but she clutched at his wrist, holding him in place, moving her hips to push against his hand.

“Yeah, that's right, Mia,” he coaxed. “Y’all just relax an’ enjoy yerself...”

His free hand opened his own jeans, easing his cock from its confines, considering how best to get it in her. He could fuck her against the wall, but he could hear someone moving around downstairs and such a position might be hard to extricate himself from quickly if they ventured up.

They were next to the rec room, though, and it would be the work of minutes to get her up on the pool table and tug her jeans off….

He was still considering when he heard Eveline’s voice, calling up the stairs.

“Lucas? Lucas! I want you to play with me!”

He cursed her under his breath, pushing his fingers more forcefully into Mia one last time for luck before reluctantly withdrawing them. They slid free with a squelch and he groaned with frustration.

“We'll pick this up another time, right?” he told her. “An’ I'll get you that ice cream, how does that sound?”

Her eyes slid away from his and she appeared to drift off again without the physical contact to keep her grounded. Lucas tucked himself away and zipped himself up, pulling the hem of his hoodie down to conceal the lump of his wilting erection.

After a moment of consideration he refastened Mia’s jeans for her, not trusting her to do it herself. Didn’t want her giving the game away, wandering around with her barn door open.

“There. All set. See ya later, Mia!”

 

He made his way down the stairs, surreptitiously sniffing his fingers. They gave off a powerful smell - God knows when Mia had last washed herself or her underwear - but it was rich and strong and earthy and he liked it nevertheless. Made his mouth water.

Next time, Lucas, he promised himself. Next time.

Eveline waited in the main hall, looking impatient, and he hid his annoyance behind an easy grin.

“Where we goin’, little sis?” he asked brightly.

“Back to the old house,” she said. “I wanna play that game again.”

He flinched internally, but didn't let his feelings show, and when she extended her hand to take his he had to stifle a snigger.

She took the hand that had been in Mia, and he wrapped his guilty fingers around her small ones with no stab of conscience.

Evie wrinkled her nose.

“Pew! Lucas, you smell funny! What have you been doing?”

“Just been somewhere dirty,” he told her. “Never you mind about it.”

 

Games with Eveline left him feeling weird. On the surface they were innocent children’s games, but always with an extra element of horror just slotted in there, all casual like. She wanted a tea party, which should have been fine if dull as shit, but instead of using toys to fill in the gaps for the guests like a normal child would have done she'd insisted on him dragging in some of the samples from the processing area.

There were four of them, all in varying states of transformation, one of them showing no signs of reanimating. They stank: Ordinary rot and the metallic dampness of the mold, the smell so strong it had given him a thick coating in his throat that made him want to gag. His eyes watered, mouth filling with sour saliva that flooded his tongue as she poured “tea” and handed round the miniature plastic teacups with faded flowers printed round the rim.

The one nearest Lucas had been the farthest gone, it's surface shiny and black with the constant ripple of shifting, growing mold making tiny squelching noises. The thing was trying to breathe too, ragged intermittent gasps that sounded thick and wet like a kid breathing through snot. Lucas had accidentally looked at it at the wrong moment to see a bubble of slime swell and burst from it where it's nose should have been. That had been fun.

“Lucas, I've been thinking,” said Eveline as she lifted her cup to her lips and pretended to take a sip.

“Oh yeah?”

Lucas inched a little further away from the mess to his left. It was moving now, head rocking back and forth on its shoulders making little mucousy grunts.

He realised Eveline was glaring at him and hastily picked up his cup, struggling to fit his finger through the tiny loop of the handle. She watched closely as he lifted it to his mouth. It was swamp water in there, the greasy scum on the surface suspending a myriad of dead bugs. Lucas wrinkled his nose and pretended to sip, and Eveline sat back, satisfied.

“What you been thinkin’ about, baby sis?” he asked.

“I want a puppy,” she said.

Lucas was surprised. She asked for lots of stuff, and usually nothing as innocent as a puppy.

“Well, okay. Guess I could get you one. Lot o’ farms round here bound to be sellin’ puppies. I'll check it out.”

“Yay!”

Eveline clapped her hands together, and the newborn molded to Lucas’s left gave a spastic lurch, breathing out a fine spray of something wet and foul. Lucas felt it land on it cheek and casually wiped it away with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“When will you go?” asked Evie excitedly.

“Uh...tomorrow? That be okay?”

“Yes!”

She jiggled in her seat, turning to the rancid corpse seated next to her. 

“You hear that, Jerry? We're getting a puppy!”

She wrinkled her nose and leaned over, examining the vagrant who had once been known as Jerry. There was mold covering the caved in side of his head, but it no longer bubbled with the semblance of life, and the rest of his skin was starting to break down. It looked shiny and slimy.

Eveline gave him an experimental poke, her finger sinking into the rot and releasing a sweet stench. Lucas suppressed a gag with difficulty.

“Lucas, this one isn't turning. Get rid of him.”

Lucas got wearily to his feet. The last thing he wanted to do was heft a decaying corpse around the place but it sure beat being a guest at Eveline’s tea party.

 

Freedom. Or at least the brief pretence of it.

Lucas had used some of the money stolen from the “guests” to purchase a broken down old van. He didn’t dare use his father’s car, previously the old man’s pride and joy, to drive around in as everyone recognised Jack Baker’s car. God knows he’d showed it off often enough when he’d first bought it, taking it round town to show his buddies, bragging at the bargain he’d picked up from the police auction.

It had been a drug-dealer’s car, Lucas had discovered early on. Some guy who dealt with crackheads and meth addicts. Lucas had been cleaning it once and had found a little slip of paper in the lining of one of the doors with a list of contacts on it, complete with phone numbers, and without really knowing why he’d slipped it into his pocket. He still had it, somewhere, Maybe it would be useful one day.

The van he’d bought was a piece of shit with mushy brakes and rusted bodywork but it looked fine on the outside and served its purpose. He could travel incognito  _ and _ smuggle new victims into it, easy as pie.

He got into it now, happy to taste the fleeting luxury of being away from Eveline for a spell. There was a wad of bills rolled up in one pocket of his jeans and a pack of smokes in the other. This was as good as life was likely to get for the time being and he was determined to appreciate it.

He waited till he’d left town before cranking open the window and propping his elbow on the sill, breathing in the earthy smell from the surrounding fields. It felt good, powerful, to be driving. He had his destiny in his hands for a while in the form of a worn out steering wheel.

Lucas was actually please that Eveline had asked for a puppy. He liked dogs - his second favourite animal after alligators. They could be dumb and smell bad and he didn’t care. Dogs didn’t mind what sort of person you were as long as you treated them right and he was looking forward to having a dog around the house again. After Diane had died, hit by a car on the dirt road not far from the house, his father had forbidden them to get another. He’d said it was because a dog was too much responsibility and too expensive to keep, but Lucas suspected that the real reason was that Diane’s death had broken the old bastard’s heart and he didn't want to risk getting attached again.

_ Well, dad, _ he thought to himself. _ Ain’t up to you no more. Eveline wants one and what Eveline wants Eveline gets, so how do you like them apples? _

He lit up a smoke, watching the plume peel backwards from his mouth and rush out behind the van. He was considering the best place to try. He didn’t want to go anywhere he might be recognised, as Eveline had been pretty adamant that nobody knew the Bakers were around any more. He often wondered what people thought had happened to them. The most likely rumour was that their tumbledown house had finally tumbled down after the storm and driven them out to a new place, but he was surprised nobody had come out to look for them yet. Give it another couple of months, he reckoned, and someone was bound to come out. God help whoever fucking did, because he doubted very much they’d leave again….

 

Most of the farms he’d passed so far were arable ones, and while that didn’t discount the possibility of them owning a dog he had already decided to go for a chicken farm. Poultry farming was a big deal round here and a lot of them had dogs around to protect the chickens. He was hoping for a Great Pyrenee. He loved those big fluffy bastards.

He was keeping an eye out for likely farm buildings. Most of the fields were bare this time of year, but come Autumn and the harvest they’d be crowded with sugarcane, cotton and corn. It looked pretty desolate, but it meant the horizon was clear, and it wasn’t long before he spotted what he was looking for: the long, low buildings where chickens were raised.

He swung his van down a side road, aiming for the farm.

 

It took him three tries to hit gold in the form of a retriever, but he wasn’t disheartened. He was in no hurry to get back. He was enjoying himself being out and about, even though he felt guilty for feeling good. Back at the house Zoe was all shut up in her trailer, scared and miserable and possibly in pain. He promised himself he’d check up on her when he got back.

The people at the farm he was at had didn't seem concerned about his appearance and showed him the puppies they had for sale, labrador retrievers crossed with something else. It would be another week before they were allowed to leave. He didn’t mind. He’d like coming out again.

He paid a deposit on one, a bitch puppy much smaller than the others. She was the runt of the litter, they said, and they hadn’t been sure she’d survive, but even if she was a little scrawny looking he liked her. Kinda reminded him of himself. He’d picked her because she’d been the only one to approach him - the other puppies had nearly stampeded in their rush to get away from him, sensing perhaps the unnaturalness in his blood, but this one...this one had wobbled over to sniff the cuff of his pants and even if she had peed a little on his shoe he was prepared to forgive her. She’d leaned into his hand when he’d scratched her behind the ear, and that made up for a lot.

 

He stopped off on the way home to pick up supplies. Some more food for Zoe, plus the chicken sandwiches from Wendy’s she liked, and of course ice cream.

He’d been thinking about Mia since the day before, even when he was carting what was left of poor Jerry to the incinerator. He’d carried traces of her on his fingers for hours afterwards, handling Jerry predominantly with his left hand to preserve her scent on him and every time his chore got to much for him he’d take a sniff.

Dead eyed and bad smelling, she wasn’t exactly Miss Louisiana but there was no other pussy around for him to pursue. She was his best and only shot and he was fucked if he was going to give up his quest. Besides, her state of mind worked in his favour: He doubted she’d look at him twice under any other circumstances.

Her odour had faded of course, but he still held the memory of it in his head, along with the way she’d tilted her hips into his hand, the way she’d closed her eyes and gasped. Wasn’t quite porn, he was prepared to concede, but as far as he was concerned it was better. It was real. And most importantly, it was accessible.

 

He wanted to go straight to Mia, but he knew where his best interests lay. He had to pay court to Eveline first, report on the puppy situation, and as a precaution he’d gotten the child some ice cream too, to keep her occupied.

She was ecstatic, having never tried that particular treat before and he left her sitting at the table swinging her legs, her mouth smeared in chocolate.

The other tub was was melting, the container soft and soggy in his hand, so despite the stab of conscience he felt at leaving Zoe until later he hurried upstairs to find Mia. He found her wandering the verandahs looking out onto the yard, humming to herself.

“Hey Mia….” he said, speaking quietly so as not to startle her into a fit.

She turned to look at him, shuffling her feet around to swivel her entire body.

“Looky looky what I got!” he said, holding the carton up and wiggling it enticingly in her direction.

Her eyes widened and she reached out with grabby hands, staggering forward as if propelled by clockwork.

Lucas backed away, drawing her with him, using the pint of strawberry ice cream as bait, leading her back into the house and into his old room.

She had refused to fuck him in here once, he remembered that much, but he thought she'd be more agreeable now. Things were a lot simpler than they’d been before.

Tempting her in he shut the door behind them, only then letting her snatch the tub from him.

She moaned as she wrenched the lid off, an almost sexual noise that got his motor running even more than it had been, and he stopped her from simply digging in with her hands by handing her the spoon he'd filched, watching as she scampered over into a corner with her prize to sit cross-legged on the floor. She was already scooping the partially melted pink mess into her mouth as he followed at a more sedate pace, strolling over to perch himself on Zoe's old bed to spectate.

“That good?” he asked.

Mia rolled her eyes in his direction, her pupils dilated with pleasure, mouth ringed in pink, and swallowed another huge mouthful.

He let her eat half the contents before confiscating it, prying the crushed cardboard tub and the spoon from her hands. She snarled at him, but he wagged a finger in her face, recoiling as she snapped at it, teeth barely missing him.

“Uh-uh, Mia - you can have the rest afterwards. It's my turn now. You remember our deal?”

Mia glowered at him, but to his surprise she nodded.

He grinned.

“Good girl….come on here, then.”

He patted the bed next to him.

With a sigh Mia heaved herself up, climbing onto the low bed next to him, casting a longing glance at the remaining ice cream.

Lucas coaxed her onto her back with her legs hanging over the edge, putting the ice cream  out of her reach on the dresser.

He didn’t know where to start, but settled on her breasts, closing his hand over one through her top. She didn’t have much to play with - unlike Rosalie, he thought ruefully - but he wasn’t about to hold that against her. He squeezed the little mound, flicking his thumb across the stiffened jut of her nipple.

“This ain’t so bad, is it?” he asked, leaning over her and kissing her sticky mouth.

She didn't respond, allowing his tongue between her lips but not participating in any way.

Undeterred by her lack of enthusiasm, he busied himself with the fastening of her jeans. Foreplay would have been nice but he didn’t know how long the ice cream would occupy Eveline and he didn't intend to waste any more time.

“There ya go, Mia,” he said comfortingly. “Let’s get these off ya…”

He stood, bending down to grab the heels of her sneakers and wrenching them both off at once. She stared up at him dully as he peeled her jeans down her legs, taking her panties with them, tugging them over her feet and off. He tossed the tangle aside and lay on top of her, prising her legs apart with his knee and fitting himself between them.

There was a look on her face he couldn’t identify, but he didn’t bother himself with details. She wasn’t stopping him, that was the main thing.

He released his cock, letting it spring out of his fly and eased his jeans down just far enough to give him some room to manoeuvre. He tested her readiness with one probing finger, finding her wet and slimy, and grinned.

“Atta girl!” he said. “Now you just hold on. This won’t take long….”

It took a couple of tries, his aim affected by his enthusiasm, but then he was in her, squelching into the rancid smoosh of her pussy. It felt fucking great. He braced himself up on his arms and started to fuck her in short, sharp shunts that rocked her back and forth on the bed. He would have liked to have gotten more of a run-up, pounded her a little harder, but he was conscious of the noise he might make and the child downstairs busy with her ice cream.

Mia was frowning up at him, looking puzzled, but as he continued she put a tentative hand on his shoulder.

“How’s that?” he panted, not expecting an answer. “That good, huh?”

“Yesss….” she whispered, and he felt a thrill in the pit of his stomach.

It was over in minutes, and he shot his load into her with a strangled moan, flopping down onto her with his face against her shoulder as he got his breath back, his knees grazing the floor.

Mia touched his hair, a brief caress before her hand dropped away.

Lucas pulled out of her and rearranged his clothing hurriedly. Her eyes watched his movements with fascination, an intelligence behind them that hadn’t been there for a while.

“Here ya go,” he said, handing her the remains of the ice cream. “Y’all can finish that now, if ya want.”

She sat up and took it from him, starting to eat it once more still naked from the waist down, his spunk oozing out of her onto the bed.

“Bye, Mia,” he said brightly as he left.

“Bye Lucas,” she mumbled through her mouthful of liquid Ben and Jerry’s.

He was euphoric as he descended the stairs. It had been easier than he’d thought, and he wondered if they could have a regular thing going if he kept her supplied with treats and bribes. That would be fucking awesome.

He’d put Zoe off long enough, though, and it was time to bite the bullet and go see her.

 

Part of him hoped she wouldn’t let him in. It was a shitty thing to think but her misery made him feel uncomfortable and helpless. He knocked on her trailer door with one knuckle, a tentative sound that wouldn’t carry.

There was a smear of Mia’s pussy juice under his fingernail, a white cream that betrayed his guilt, and he licked it out hurriedly while he waited for a response.

If she didn't answer he'd leave the fast food sack on her stoop and leave.

There was a shuffling noise from inside, followed by the click of her feeble lock unlatching. Lucas steeled himself as the door swung open a fraction, one bloodshot eye appearing at the crack.

“Hey Zoe….”

He kept his voice soft and subdued. Though he was still flying high on the wave of his triumph with Mia his victory was considerably dampened by Zoe's demeanor and he felt a mealy-mouthed bitterness rising within him. He was in a good fucking mood and this miserable bitch was going to put a downer on that.

He stamped that impulse down. It was the lingering after effects of Eveline’s influence, he told himself. That wasn't him.

Zoe stepped back from the door, letting it fall open on its crooked hinges, and he stepped inside.

His eyes were dragged down as if by magnets, falling on the crotch of her jeans. She had to have scrubbed her fingers raw cleaning up that blood as there was only a faint stain there now, a ghost of rust shadowing her thighs.

He pulled his gaze back up hastily. 

“How you doin’, sis?” he asked.

Her thin lips pressed together in a hard line, and she managed to shake her head briefly before turning her face away.

“Awww,  Zoe. Wish I knew what to say…..”

She rubbed the back of her hand against her eye, wiping away a threatened tear.

“Don't have to say anythin’,” she said. “I already thought all o’ it. Was for the best. God knows what that little bitch would o’ done if she'd found out I was pregnant….”

Lucas flinched involuntarily at her shit-talking Eveline. If she heard….

“I brought you some food,” he said, eager to change the subject but cringing at his own insensitivity.

_ Hey you lost your baby, but here's chicken! _

She looked dully at the sack he held up.

“Thanks Lucas. I appreciate what you been doin’ for me.”

Her face twitched and he prayed she wouldn't cry, but it was worse: She stumbled towards him with her arms held out and he realised he was going to have to hug her.

He put the Wendy’s bag on the counter as her arms fell onto his shoulders and she let out a muffled sob.

“Oh God Lucas, I hate him! I fuckin’ hate him so much!”

Lucas didn't have ask to ask who “he” was. He felt vindicated: After all these years good little daddy’s girl Zoe saw the other side of their father and had come over to his view.

It made him affectionate, this unity, and he managed to hug his sister after a fashion, using his forearms against her ribs. There was a vague memory of Not Rightness to hugging Zoe that he didn't want to be reminded of and he wasn't about to get cosy.

He patted her back clumsily, aware he was giving her the equivalent of a Bro Hug and to his relief she pulled away. Her eyes were dry, thankfully, but her face was pissed.

“Y’know what Lucas? All this time I been tryin’ to think of a way to save us - save all of us - but right now I don't give a fuck. Daddy can die as far as I'm concerned. Momma too.”

Lucas winced.

“That's all very well, Zoe, but how you gonna do that? Ain't like you can just walk on in there an’ execute them!”

“I have my ways,” she said cryptically. “Might need your help though.”

Lucas was already shaking his head.

“Uh-uh. No way, Zoe, it's too risky. Eveline gets wind o’ what you're doin’ an’ we're both fucked.”

“She can fuckin’ die too,” hissed Zoe. “Little cunt comin’ in here, wreckin’ our family! She ain't no child, not really. She's a monster. Momma an’ Daddy ain't in there no more. Just monsters like her, wearin’ their skin. I'm gettin ’ rid o’ them. All o’ them. Are you with me or not, Lucas? Pick a fuckin’ side!”

Lucas bristled at her ultimatum. Who the fuck did she think she was, making demands like that? He felt his hands bunch into fists. Life was getting better for him: he was being given a little freedom, and the possibility of regular sex. Why couldn't Zoe just keep her head down and get on with it like he did? If she decided to wage war against Eveline and failed all the progress he'd made could turn to shit.

_ But what if she succeeds?  _ asked a little voice.  _ What if she gets rid o’ Eveline and your folks an’ you get the run o’ this place? Set Mia up in the barn as your little concubine, do what the fuck you want with your newfound powers. People think you're dead or gone, buddy. You don't exist as far as they're concerned. You'd be untouchable. Accountable to no one.  Y’all could be King of this Castle…. _

Lucas didn't know who this new voice belonged to, but he made sense. With Eveline and his father out of the way he could have a lot more freedom and a lot more sex. Of course, he might shed a tear or two for his mother, but you couldn't make an omelette without breaking eggs….

“What help do you need, Zoe? ‘cause I can't make any promises. Eveline’s got her eye on me a lot o’ the time an’ if she gets wind o’ what we're up to….”

“I ain't gonna need much, Lucas - just access to a phone. Don't worry, I ain't gonna be doin’ any o’ this myself. I got a contact. One I'd forgotten all about. If I'm right he'll take care o’ everything.”

 

It was two days later and he was in his barn, tinkering with the generator. It kept breaking down, and he was running out of parts to fix it. He could only hope Eveline would let him buy replacements soon otherwise he was going to be fucked.

He was so absorbed in his work that he barely heard the approach of another person - soft footsteps creeping into his workspace.

He sighed at the intrusion, but kept working.

“Y’all okay, Zoe?” he asked. “Really shouldn’t be out here, sis. Kinda dangerous for you. What's up? Is it time?”

There was no reply, and he looked up curiously.

Mia stood in the entrance, watching him, biting her lip raw, her knuckles white as she clutched at the frame of the doorway.

“Mia? Holy shit, what you doin’ here?”

Her face looked clearer, her expression more aware than it had been for weeks.

“I….I’m lonely….” she said in a voice that was barely audible.

Her lower lip fell loose from between her teeth and started to tremble. There were tears in her eyes, he noticed, little dribbles trickling down the inside of her nose.

“I'm lonely,” she repeated. “And dirty. And ugly. I've been taken away from my husband and family and friends. I'm a...a fucking  _ puppet _ for a psychotic little girl and I can't stand it! You were right Lucas. I need somebody….”

“Okay…”

“And I thought, maybe, that somebody could be you, if the offer’s still open….”

Her eyes darted helplessly, seeming to want to look everywhere other than at him, and Lucas put down his wrench. A suspicion was dawning that seemed too good to be true.

“You serious?” he asked.

She hesitated, then nodded, looking bashful.

“I feel like you get me, Lucas. What you were saying the other day - I understood more than I let on. And it was true. All of it: If I don't get someone to talk to, I'm going to go crazy.”

“Now when you say talk….” said Lucas. “Is that what you really mean? Or are you gettin’ at somethin’ else?”

She blushed.

“Something else,” she said. “I need it. I need to stop feeling like this. I need someone to want me.”

“Well, I reckon I know what you want,” he said. “But just to be sure….you gotta let me know. You want anythin’ from me, you gotta come an’ get it. So I know that's what you want. So I know it’s your choice. Don't wanna make no mistakes here. Don't want you sayin’ afterwards: ‘You made me do it, Lucas. That wasn't what I wanted.’.”

Mia frowned, but she let go of the doorframe and took a careful step forward.

Lucas didn’t move, curious. He had asked for consent, but his caution had been about more than that. It had been about power:  _ His _ power, for once. To not be an opportunist and take something just because he could and nobody was stopping him, but to have it given to him freely. To know he deserved it. She did that, he was prepared to give up some of that power he'd earned. He'd let her have anything she wanted, within reason….

He half-expected her to turn and flee, and if she did he wouldn’t chase after her. He was done chasing pussy. Was about time the pussy came to him.

She took another step, looking unsteady on her feet, but then in a rush she crossed the rest of the floor towards him, her arms going around his neck, her lips pressing up against his with a desperation that nearly knocked him over.

He felt a surge of triumph, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her back. Lucas hadn't won anything for years: Not an argument nor a fight nor anyone’s respect, and now right here in this barn he'd won over Mia.

It felt good. Better even than her hand closing over his crotch, fumbling for his stiffening dick. Better than the little gasping breaths she was puffing into his mouth as she struggled with his zip.

Times had changed for Lucas and he was fucking loving it.

Bodies humping together they sank onto the grimy floor, stirring up the dust and rolling in the dirt where they belonged.

 

Mia seemed embarrassed afterwards. Whether it was from the strength of her need or the abandon with which she'd thrown herself into it Lucas didn't know. But he also didn't care.

It had been awesome. Her shame had been part of the excitement: Those fleeting expressions of shock on her face cropping up every now and then as if she was asking herself what the hell she was doing, letting this scrawny sonofabitch ream her out. It had almost stopped him from doing it, those little looks of doubt and disgust. Almost.

He'd taken full advantage of what had been offered, drowning himself in it, eating out her stinking pussy like it was chicken fried steak, mopping up her juices with his tongue like they were gravy.

He bore the residue round his mouth now, the slime clinging to his stubble and sending out aromatic signals that made him want to do it all over again, even though bare minutes had passed since he'd finished.

As the glow faded Mia squirmed uncomfortably beneath him. She was face down on the floor, her ass humped up into his groin, and there were little shards of her fingernails scattering the cement around them from her frantic clawing.

He didn't have to ask her if she'd cum: Even if her hoarse screams hadn't been enough of an indication, he'd felt her clench around him, waves of spasms pulling at his cock like she was milking him. “Lucas….”

She wriggled a little and he unwound his arms from where they circled down under her belly. He pushed himself up onto his knees, slipping out of her with a slurp, softening dick slapping against his bare thigh.

She turned over, scooting away from him. There was a small graze on her chin she'd sustained from the floor that was already healing and he tucked himself back in his pants with a grin as she searched for her panties.

“That was gooood…” he commented.

Mia tried to smile but it was more like a flinch, and Lucas couldn't help himself: He had to twist the knife a little more.

“Came pretty hard, dintcha? You weren't ever like that before, as I recall. Must o’ hit the right spot once or twice, huh?”

Mia didn't answer, concentrating on pulling up her panties, turning the legs of her jeans the right way out. Her face was flushed, bright spots on her grey cheeks. She looked like she might cry again, but Lucas couldn't help that. He hadn't been mean to her. Had given her what she'd wanted, was all.

She managed to get her jeans back on and poked her feet into her sneakers. She still hadn't made eye contact with him, and Lucas watched her struggles with a certain amount of interest. He'd had fun, but her attitude bothered him.

She'd wanted it. She'd come to him. She'd ripped open his pants like she was starving and his dick was a three course meal. So what was her fucking problem?

Was she too good for him now she was done with him? Was that it? Did she regret it already?

She glanced up and saw the look on his face and it appeared to startle her.

“It was good, Lucas,” she said, and he saw her force a smile onto her face, stretching her mouth. “But I have to get back to the house. Before Eveline notices I'm gone.”

It sounded reasonable but Lucas wasn't buying it. Oh well. Whatever.

“It's okay,” he said. “Wasn't plannin’ on cookin’ you breakfast or anythin’.”

She tittered a little and got to her feet.

“Well, guess I'll go, then,” she said.

“Guess you will. Until next time, right Mia?”

Another facial tic, and Lucas got up too, standing right in front of her and getting into her personal space.

“There’s gonna be a next time is there, Mia? I mean now y’all got what you wanted….you plannin’ on comin’ back for more at any point?”

Mia dropped her head.

“I don't know,” she said.

“You can't play with me, Mia,” said Lucas. “I'll give you all the fuckin’ you want or need, I ain't got no problem with that, but don't you think you can get away with fuckin’ me then treatin’ me like shit afterwards. Don't work like that. You start doin’ that an’ I ain't playin’ along. I ain't a fuckin’ toy. You hear me?”

“Yes.”

Her voice was hard and he didn't have to see her face to know she was pissed off at being cornered like this, but he didnt care.He'd made his point.

“Well, that's good then. Cuz I like this little arrangement, Mia. Good for both of us. So. Till next time, right?”

“Bye, Lucas.”

She turned away from him and for a second the rage was back, coursing through him like a forest fire and he wanted to grab her, pull her back. Show her she couldn't just dismiss him like that. Fuck her all over again against the wall just to hear her scream again, say his name again.

But he didn't. He screwed up his resolve, took a few deep breaths. She'd be back. Greedy pussy like that wouldn't ever be satisfied. 

He picked up his wrench and went back to the generator, humming to himself as he worked.


	25. Interlopers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe calls for help, but things don't go as well as she hoped.

It was time. Zoe had had enough of skulking in her trailer. Her parents, and more importantly  _ Eveline, _ were going to pay.

It took all her courage to make her way over to the barn - she felt so exposed out in the open, like she imagined a field mouse must feel when a hawk cruised overhead - but it was more dangerous for Lucas to come to her. They'd run the gauntlet far too often, and both of them were equally at risk, but Lucas, having the ear of the Queen, was too valuable to sacrifice. She needed him.

He was doing something to the door to the barn: There were tools and measuring tapes littering the stairs inside, and she guessed he'd be reinforcing it, making his refuge more secure. She picked her way through snarls of wire and electronic components, heading for his centre of operations.

She'd expected him to be at his workbench, but he was sat in a rickety old office chair with a bundled towel on his lap, and she paused in the doorway. This was his inner sanctum, a place where he felt secure. There were many reasons she could think of for him to have a towel and one of them made her cringe.

He wasn't facing the doorway, but he tilted his head like he'd heard her arrival.

“Back for more already?” he asked. “That was quick….”

“Back for more  _ what _ ?” she asked.

He flinched, swivelling the chair around to face her. He looked guilty for some reason - she'd seen that expression on his face too many times when he'd been caught out - but within seconds he'd shifted the look into polite inquiry.

“Back for more food,” he said. “You ain't finished it all yet, have you?”

It sounded reasonable, but she didn't quite buy it. Still, it wasn't important at the moment.

“No, I still got plenty left,” she said. “What you got there?”

He looked bashful then, peering down at the towel which twitched in his grasp.

“Puppy,” he said. “Eveline wanted one but I ain't had the heart to give her up yet….”

“A puppy?”

Despite the seriousness of her business, Zoe hurried over, desperate to see. Their exchange seemed to have woken Lucas’s charge, and as she leaned over she saw a tiny pink nose appear from the depths of his bundle.

“Oh my goooodddd. ...Lemme see!”

He unwrapped a portion of the towel, and a small golden head popped out.

“Awww, Lucas - it's so  _ cute _ . You can't give it to Eveline! God knows what she'll do to it.”

“I have to,” said Lucas gloomily, lifting the puppy up in front of his face. “What Evie wants, Evie gets. You know that. Besides, I don't think she'll hurt the little squirt. At least, not deliberately….”

The puppy licked the end of his nose, and he very nearly smiled.

“I'll take care of her best I can. What did you want anyways? You didn't come over here just to shoot the shit.”

Zoe reached out and scratched the puppy behind the ears.

“Remember what we talked about? You said you'd help me?”

Her brother's mouth twisted in consternation.

“Yeah, I remember. Listen, are you sure this is the right thing to do? I dunno what you got planned, exactly, but seems to me if you involve someone from outside it could get messy.”

“What else are we gonna do, Lucas? I can't go on like this, livin’ in that damn trailer and scared for my life every day. Besides, after what that….that _ monster _ did, I don't much feel like hopin’ for the best every day. We can't cure Momma an’ Daddy. It's too late for that. And I don't reckon they'd be able to live knowin’ what they done. So they have to die. Same goes for that little bitch.”

The puppy squirmed in Lucas’s grasp, turning round to look over its shoulder at her. It looked worried.

“Aw, Zoe, look! You scared her!” he complained.

He cradled the puppy to his chest where it promptly began to chew on the strings of his hood.

“She weren't talkin’ about you when she said ‘bitch’ honey. It's okay….” he cooed.

“Lucas, stop talkin’ to the puppy and talk to me! Are you gonna help me or not?”

“Okay, okay!” he grumbled. “I'll see what I can do. Daren’t let you in the house, not after last time, but I'll do some diggin’. I got a couple o’ ideas.”

“Thank you…..can I hold it?”

Lucas looked at the puppy, then at her, bottom lip poked out sulkily. 

“No,” he said. “You're mean.”

“Aw, c’mon! Please? Pretty please?”

He sighed.

“All right then. Just for a little while….”

He handed the wriggling bundle of fur over to her reluctantly, looking like he'd very much like to snatch it back.

Zoe smiled, feeling the little velvety tongue lapping at her fingers. She'd make sure this baby was safe when help came. It was the least she could do.

 

She had to wait for two days, but Lucas was as good as his word.

He'd kept the puppy to himself for a spell, hiding it in his barn, but she'd seen him take it over to the main house the day before, walking slowly like he was on his way to his execution.

He was back today, Eveline at his side. She had the puppy on a leash, and it strained excitedly on the end of it, pulling them hither and thither around the yard. Zoe watched through a crack in her curtains as the puppy peed a million times in different spots, squatting over the dying grass. They came close enough to the trailer that Zoe could hear Eveline’s voice, and the sound of her ersatz sweet tones made her clench her fists so hard she found crescents of blood from her nails on the palms of her hands later.

“Look, Lucas! Isn't she smart? I think we have the smartest puppy in the world, don't you?”

“Yeah, she sure is smart,” agreed Lucas wistfully.

“Ohhhhh….she's trying to eat a leaf! Silly girl. Look Lucas! Look!”

“I'm lookin’,” he said. “Don't let her eat it, now. That sort o’ thing ain't good for puppies…”

Eveline’s  voice moved, going around the back of the trailer.

“Bubbles! Bubbles, come on girl….”

Zoe sniggered. Lucas was following behind Eveline and she saw his face twist in annoyance at the name the child had no doubt chosen herself. He wouldn't have said anything, but she knew him well enough to know that the name would have offended his logic.

She could imagine him ranting to himself in the barn:

_ “Bubbles? What kind o’ name is that for a fuckin’ dog? Can't call a dog Bubbles! Fuckin’ Bubbles….goddammit….” _

Zoe’s reverie was interrupted by Eveline’s voice, shrill with laughter.

“Eww! She's pooping! Lucas, look at her poop!”

“I seen dog shit before, Eveline….”

“Good pooping, Bubbles! You're so smart….”

It was odd hearing the girl so carefree and innocent. Listening to her one could almost believe she was normal.

“I think that's enough exercise for one day, Eveline,” came Lucas’s voice from behind the trailer. “Look at her - she's all wore out. Why don't you take her back to the house an’ feed her? I'll clear up her mess.”

“Why don't you just leave it?” asked Eveline, tone full of distaste. “It's only by Zoe’s trailer….”

Little bitch! Zoe clenched her fists again.

“Aw, I can't, Evie. I leave this one, I'll end up leavin’ the next one, an’ the next one, an’ the one after that….Next thing you know we'll be knee deep in dog shit!”

Eveline giggled.

“Okay. Come on, Bubbles! You want something to eat? Let's go!”

Zoe heard the rustle of grass as child and dog departed, leaving Lucas behind. Once they were out of earshot, Zoe heard Lucas muttering to himself.

“Fuckin’  _ Bubbles _ ….”

The back door slammed shut, and straight away there was a cautious knock on the outer wall of the trailer. Zoe peeped outside.

Lucas was pulling something out of the pocket of his pants, a dull blue object wrapped in a baggie. He searched the windows, spotting her face in the nearest one, then held the thing up, wiggling it at her. She thought she might know what it was: It looked vaguely familiar.

Making sure she was watching he stooped and put it on the grass, covering it over with an upside down pail. She gave him the thumbs up through the window, and he nodded.

He looked down at the ground where a steaming dog turd lay nestled on the grass, and kicked a clod of earth over it before lighting a cigarette and strolling back to the house.

 

She waited until dark before going to look behind the trailer.

She was paranoid, part of her expecting that she'd go out there and Eveline would be waiting there, standing in the dark with her mother and father.

It wasn't that she thought Lucas would have knowingly told on her, but she knew what Eveline was like - knew the hold she had over her family.

Flinching and cowering at every noise, Zoe retrieved what Lucas had left for her and scurried back inside, heart pounding.

It took her a while to calm down, sitting at her little table with her head in her hands, but once she'd stopped shaking she unwrapped Lucas’s present.

It was an old, dull blue Nokia 3310, it's case cracked, it buttons sticky. It was held together by dirty electrical tape. Zoe recognised it, and she shouldn't have been surprised that Lucas had found it: Her parents never threw anything away.

It had been Lucas’s phone back in 2002 when he was 10 years old, a birthday gift from Aunt Olivia and Uncle Amos. Her father had been dead against it, she recalled.

_ “Boy don't need a phone! Who's he gonna call?” _

_ “Ghostbusters,”  _ Lucas had replied, and he and Zoe had cracked up.

Her mother had been more in favour of it, reasoning that she'd be able to keep track of her son easier when he was out exploring the swamps, and the result was that Lucas had gotten his phone.

He'd treasured it at first, carrying it round with him like it was his baby, but after he'd dropped it the first couple of times and discovered it was practically indestructible he'd been a little less careful with it. It had forever been slipping out of his pocket, the most notable time being when he'd been swinging from a tree branch upside down over the driveway. Daddy had been backing along the drive as it fell, and the rear tire had gone over it.

Jack had been all set to give Lucas a hiding for not looking after his stuff but to his surprise Lucas had just snapped the thing back together and called Momma up at the house, asking her to have some brownies at the ready for after his father had given him a whuppin’, and Jack had been so incredulous that Lucas had been spared that day.

He'd kept the phone till 2005 when Olivia and Amos had delivered the goods again, this time in the form of a silver Motorola Razr, and the old Nokia had been put aside. Lucas continued to find uses for it, though: It had gone through several incarnations as a doorstop and a paperweight, amongst other things, until Jack had finally caved in under the pressure and decided it was time he had a cellphone too.

Lucas had brushed the dust off several of his old phones, graciously allowing his father the pick of the bunch. Lucas had a BlackBerry Curve by that time, and thought he was hot shit.

Jack had taken a look at the assembled handsets and picked the battle-scarred old Nokia, saying it was good enough for him and he didn't have time for those  _ “little, sissy phones”. _

In reality, Zoe thought he'd secretly been intimidated by the other ones, or maybe he'd still been grudgingly impressed by the Nokia’s tenacity. Whichever it was, Lucas spent a frustrated and crowded hour trying to teach their father how to use it.

Perhaps realising that here, at least, was an area in which his son had the upper hand, Jack had been surprisingly tolerant of Lucas's outbursts.

_ "What's this little doohickey here?" _ __  
_ "That's the fuckin’ power button! I done told you ten times!" _ __  
_ "Language, son. An’ what about this?" _ _  
_ __ "It's the goddam speaker! Jesus wept!”

_ “Don't take the Lord’s name in vain, son. Now, say for instance I wanted to call your mother to ask her if she wanted me to pick her something up from the store…..” _

_ “Oh my god….we've been over this!” _

_ “I know, I know. Just refresh my memory some. Which button do I press?” _

_ Lucas had sighed, pushing his hair back out of his face, visibly trying to calm himself. He'd had a full head of hair back then, floppy emo bangs that were hanging in sweaty tendrils over his face, and he'd started to explain again. _

_ “Okay. So I've programmed the land line as the first speed dial number, so you have to press number 2 -” _

_ “Why should I press 2 if it's the first number?” _

_ “Because, like I already said, that one's for voicemail…” _

_ “Voicemail?” _

_ “You have got to be shittin’ me!” _

It had taken a while, but he'd finally gotten the hang of it, and Zoe was almost disappointed when the tutorial was over. She'd been sitting there, cry-laughing silently, the entire time and her stomach ached from holding it all in. She knew the lesson wasn't over, though, so she at least had the Joy of Texts to look forward to at some point.

After that, Jack had carried the phone around importantly in a little leather holster clipped to his belt, and there was always a certain amount of ceremony whenever he got ready to use it. He'd adjust his glasses further down his nose and clear his throat, even if he was only going to text, and hold the phone directly in front of his face, mashing the buttons with one big finger. It was always a treat watching him send a lengthy message, as he pounded the buttons repeatedly like he was going to have a seizure whilst reading the letters aloud.

_ “j-k-L, t-U, a-b-C,A, p-q-r-S. Space. G, d-E, T. Space.   w-x-Y, m-n-O, t-U, p-q-R. Space. A, p-q-r-S, p-q-r-S. Space. g-H, m-n-O, M, d-E. Space. m-N, m-n-O, W. Send.” _

For Jack’s 50th birthday Lucas had given him his old smartphone, and though while on the surface it might have seemed like a thoughtful gift, nothing Lucas ever did was that straightforward. Jack had reluctantly put his trusty Nokia away and attempted to get used to the interloper.

The problems had started at once, when it was discovered that Lucas - possibly deliberately - hadn’t wiped everything off his phone. Trying to navigate the controls, Jack had accidentally started playing a downloaded video, and Zoe and Marguerite had been forced to sit there whilst he panicked and tried to switch off the graphic pornography that had commenced. Due to his becoming a little hard of hearing of late, the soundtrack had been full-volume, and the panting and moans had resounded around the small room. Zoe had tried to take the phone off him to show him how to turn it off, but he had forbidden her to look at the screen, and Jack had eventually stamped off to find Lucas.

After that incident, Jack had been more cautious, but the ghost of Lucas’s past messages were forever springing up in the form of  his saved dictionary.

_ “Lucas cum over to the house and help your MOTHERFUCKER! put the groceries away.” _

 

Now, sat there in her trailer holding the phone in her hands, Zoe realised that she was crying. The memories, as warped as they might have seemed to some families, were fond ones and it brought it home to her that she would never get to see Jack’s face when he realised that Lucas had at some point changed his ringtone to  _ Ass n Titties  _ by DJ Assault. Would never have to watch Lucas explain what “Kink.com” was and why it was on his saved bookmarks. Her father was gone, and in his place was a brute who had killed her baby.

Wiping the tears from her face, Zoe found her little scrap of paper that she’d wedged between the couch cushions and smoothed it out. She had deciphered it as best she could, transcribing the most likely combination of guessed numbers, and she thought she probably had it right.

She turned the phone on. Lucas had charged it for her, and put a new SIM in. She checked the balance, and he’d put $10 on there for her. There was no excuse for her not to go ahead.

Pecking out the numbers carefully, Zoe dialled.

 

It was answered after three rings, and the voice that spoke sounded frantic.

Zoe didn’t understand what he was saying, as it was in another language, but she recognised one, unmistakeable word: The name Fatima

Zoe swallowed hard, her throat dry at the prospect of suddenly talking to someone from outside their little world, and she choked on the carefully prepared speech she had rehearsed. What if he didn’t speak English? After all the build-up to this moment, what if neither of them could understand each other?

He was still talking, and now his voice was full of anguish, and Zoe made herself calm down. It was an American number she’d dialled, and her contact had to live in America. There was only one way to find out if she could make herself understood.

“Hello? Sir? I’m sorry, but do you know Fatima?”

There was a long silence, and for a moment she thought he’d hung up, but then the voice came through again, in thick-accented English.

“Where did you get this number? Only one person has access to my private phone line, and that is my daughter, Fatima. Where is she? Speak!”

It was a voice that was used to being obeyed, but now she was talking to him Zoe didn’t know what to say.

“I'll ask you again: Where is my daughter?”

Zoe floundered. She couldn't answer that question directly, but she had to say something.

“Uh, you're Fatima's father, right? She gave me this number. She said you could help….”

“That depends on how you know her. Is she there? Let me speak to her. Please.”

The man on the other end of the line sounded scary, but Zoe couldn't be too frightened of him. It was the voice of a man who was worried about his daughter and she could only sympathise.

“Sir. I'm so sorry. I'm afraid Fatima is dead.”

Silence again, but she thought she heard the whine of a stifled sob disguised by a crackle of static, and when the man spoke again he sounded composed, though subdued.

“How did she die? Was it the Mexicans? Did they do this to send me a message? Who are you?”

Mexicans? Why would they have anything to do with Fatima's death? He was firing too many questions at her and she didn't know which one to answer first.

Taking a deep breath, Zoe stuck with what she knew.

“Listen to me. I don't have much time to explain. Sir, I'm….I was a friend of Fatima's and believe me, I'm truly sorry about her death. But she gave me your number before she died because she said you were rich and powerful and you could do something. You can't save her, obviously, but I know who killed her and I know where they live. Do you want this information?”

Another long silence, but this time she could hear him breathing, and when his voice came again it had steel in it.

“Tell me,” he said.

 

She took the sim out of the phone after the conversation and tossed it into the bushes behind her trailer. She didn’t trust herself not to use the phone again - it would be tempting fate, not only because Eveline might find out but because she might find herself trying to call the cops, and she didn't want some poor officer’s death on her hands.

Fatima’s father had been businesslike and efficient once he'd gotten over his shock, and she'd given him all the information she could safely tell. It had been harder than she'd thought to point the finger at her parents, but she'd managed to do so, plus carefully stress that there were innocent people in the house who needed rescuing.

He had given her his word that herself, Lucas and Mia would be spared any retribution.

She thought about what had been said as she got ready for bed. He'd asked about the Mexicans. She’d watched Breaking Bad and knew about the cartels, and wondered if Fatima's father had thought that Fatima had been murdered as some kind of message from one drug lord to another. She was trying to remember if Fatima had ever given her any clue as to what her “family business” had been, but she couldn't recall any direct reference. All she could remember was Fatima talking about her father.

_ “...my father - he is very wise. I love him. And he loves me. But I would say he is not a kind man - not a good man. Sometimes, we have to accept this about the ones we love.” _

What if Fatima’s father was the head of some organised crime syndicate? It would explain his secrecy and his willingness to drop everything to exact revenge. It would explain the manpower he apparently had at his disposal….

Thinking about Fatima's father made her think about Fatima. And thinking about Fatima made her think about that horrible moment she had sunk the machete into her friend’s head.

Eveline and her parents might have been responsible for Fatima's death, but Zoe had done the deed, and if her father ever found out, she doubted he would be so helpful.

 

He'd told her to wait and watch.

It sounded simple enough, but the reality was harder to bear. Every minute ticked by with agonising slowness.

He'd given her no indication of how long it would be till he sent help, and with no frame of reference Zoe felt stranded, hung in some kind of limbo.

She spent a lot of time looking out of her window, analysing every twitch of a leaf, every drift of cloud.

Eveline came out often, exercising her new pet, and although Zoe enjoyed the bounding antics of the puppy she noticed it had less energy each day and her heart broke a little every time it stumbled. It's coat was dull now, and it paid less interest in its surroundings, using its excursions into the yard only to relieve itself. Lucas usually accompanied them both, leaning against the verandah smoking, watching the pair amble around with an anxious look on his narrow face.

The puppy was failing, Zoe knew. Eveline seemed to adore it, but the child’s temper was volatile and changeable, and she could only hope that the girl was just as devoted behind closed doors.

After three days, Lucas appeared in the yard alone, walking towards the barn with his feet dragging and shoulders slumped. He carried something cuddled against his chest, swaddled in what appeared to be a pillowcase with faded pink flowers on it, and whatever it had been in its previous life it was evident it was now reborn as a shroud.

Zoe felt tears sting her eyes as her brother disappeared through the barn door.  Another death in the house. She'd only met the puppy once, but it didn't matter: It hadn't deserved to die.

She knew she was taking a huge risk, but it was getting near dusk and she was going stir crazy cooped up in the trailer. She crept out into the yard and scampered over to the barn.

There was a second door inside, leaning against the wall. It was made out of metal and had some kind of electronic device being built onto it. Before long, Lucas’s lair would be secure, and she could only hope she'd still be allowed access.

Of course, if Fatima's father’s aid came soon enough, it would be irrelevant in any case.

 

She found Lucas sitting in near dark. He had an old gooseneck lamp on his workbench that was lit, casting a disk of yellow light onto the wrapped corpse.

He looked up dully at her approach.

“Was gonna bury it,” he said. “Right near where we buried Diane. But Eveline ain't gonna let me. She's got Plans.”

“What sort of plans? And how did it die?”

“Kept feedin’ it infected food. Said she wanted it linked to her mind like Momma an’ the old man. Little body couldn't take it, but there was no tellin’ her. Thought she'd be all broke up but she ain't. She wants to see if the mold will take it. Reckons she's gonna have herself a new type o’ friend.”

He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.

“I might tell her it didn't work. Bury it anyway. But she might wanna check up on it, so I guess I'll do what she wants.”

He sighed, shutting off the lamp and shambling over to the main light switch, flooding the place with a disrespectful white glare.

“You manage to use what I gave you?” he asked.

Zoe nodded, not wanting to say any more.

He raised his eyebrows inquiringly and she fidgeted.

“Don't leave me hangin’!” he said irritably. “What's goin’ on?”

“People are comin’,” she said.

“Okay. That's a start. Who, though? How many? An’ when?”

“I don't know! Look, he wouldn't tell me much. I get the feeling he's a pretty shady character. But even if he is, I got reason to believe he's rich, too, an’ ruthless, an’ if I'm right about what he is, he's gonna have guns too.”

Lucas was regarding her with new respect.

“No shit? Zoe, where in the fuck did someone like you get ahold o’ the number o’ someone like that?”

“That ain't important, Lucas! I don't even know his name. But I told him about me, you an’ Mia. He said we wouldn't get hurt.”

Lucas mulled the information over.

“I never even thought about me,” he mused. “You did, though. After all I put you through. Thanks Zoe.”

“Course I thought o’ you,” scoffed Zoe. “Listen, when they come, we gotta lay low,  kay? We can't tell Mia - she's too far under Eveline’s thumb. But do you think you can take care o’ her? Get her in here, maybe? I know it's a long shot, but -”

“I can do that,” said Lucas straight away.

His confidence threw her for a moment, and she wondered why he was so cocksure in his ability to influence Mia, but ultimately it wasn't important.

“Listen, I don't wanna seem unfriendly, but you best clear out,” Lucas was saying. “If Eveline decides to come out here an’ check up on me….”

“Shit. Okay, I'm gone. What are you gonna do with Bubbles?”

Lucas cringed at the name.

“Gonna do what Evie wants, I guess. Ain't got much choice. Little bugger’s dead anyways, can't do no harm.”

He scooped the heartbreaking little bundle up, holding it with touching care.

“Don't reckon she suffered,” he said, almost to himself. “Seemed peaceful. Not that it matters. Just a dog, after all.”

He appeared to give himself a mental shake.

“Whatever. Night, Zoe.”

 

They came at night, about a week later.

Zoe had begun to relax, and, disappointing though it was, had come to terms with the fact that Fatima's father wasn't going to bother.

She woke up to the sound of her trailer door opening, and in her sleepy state thought it was either her father coming in or, worse, that Lucas had Gone Bad again. She shrieked, pulling her blanket up over her face to hide herself as though it would help her, but it was ripped down, a flashlight shone in her eyes.

“Don't hurt me!” she yelled, cowering, trying to shield her eyes. “Please!”

“You're Zoe?” said a voice from behind the light.

“Please don't hurt me!” she sobbed.

A hand grabbed her arm in a vice grip, fingers biting in cruelly.

“You're Zoe?” The voice repeated impatiently. “Tell me!”

Dazed, still blinded, she managed to nod.

The light was lowered, and now she could make out a man standing in front of her. He wore black, and his face was covered in a stocking mask, only his eyes and mouth showing.

“Good,” he said. “We were told you were out here. Where are the others?”

He had an accent similar to Fatima and her father, but his was more Americanised, less obvious.

“My brother is in the barn? I think?” she stammered. “That building there -”

She waved in the vague direction of the barn.

“And Mia….I think she's in the house….”

The man turned to someone behind him, spoke rapidly in his language.

Zoe peered past him. She could make out at least two other people in the doorway, vague shadows shifting restlessly.

He turned back to Zoe.

“The ones we need to take care of….” he said. “They're in the house?”

“Yes. Probably. Most likely. My parents. And Eveline. Listen, Eveline looks like a little girl, but don't let that put you off. She isn't what she seems! She's a monster….”

The man shrugged. 

“Isn't a problem,” he said.

One of the men in the doorway spoke sharply, and the man she'd been talking to spun round with a swiftness that startled her. He had a gun, she realised, that she hadn't noticed before - an assault rifle, it looked like.

He shouted, and Zoe heaved herself off the bed, pushing past him.

Lucas was sprinting across the yard, hood up, arms pumping, and all three men had guns trained on him.

“No, wait!” she cried. “That's my brother! Don't shoot him!”

They lowered their guns, but there was a flashlight beam tracking him.

Lucas paid them no attention, scrambling up the steps and barrelling through the back door.

“What's he doing?” the first man demanded.

“Probably going to get Mia,” said Zoe. “He's gonna take her to the barn.”

“If he's going to warn them…..” said the man threateningly.

“No! He wouldn't do that….” said Zoe, but his words planted a seed a doubt in her mind.

What if Lucas had had a change of heart? What if he was in there right now, raising the alarm, calling them to arms?

“Asim, how long should we wait?” asked one of the men.

Asim, the one who had woken her and seemed to be in charge, hesitated.

“Five minutes. Tops,” he said. “Then we go in.”

Zoe had never realised how long five minutes could be, stood there silent in the dark. The men didn't fidget or talk, just lurked in the shadows, attentive and alert.

She counted in her head, and after 152 seconds the back door clattered open again. Lucas appeared, carrying a struggling Mia. He had one arm around her belly, his hand clamped over her mouth, and her feet thrashed and kicked back at his knees as he swung her through the door.

She looked furious, but Lucas’s face was grimly implacable, and he heaved her down the steps, the soles of her sneakers inches above the floor.

The men had tensed, guns poised, but Lucas aimed a nod in their direction, acknowledging their patience.

Dragging her along with him, he proceeded over the grass to the door of the barn. At some point he'd fitted the new door, and it looked formidable. Zoe was seized by an urge to dash after them and join them in their little fortress, but as she was debating Lucas elbowed the door open and whisked Mia inside.

“Good,” said Asim. “We can enter.”

He turned to the thick undergrowth that had started to take over the yard, choking the walls and fences and gates. Jack had neglected the pruning and upkeep of the property since Eveline’s arrival, and the kudzu was an opportunist, but even so the rate at which the yard was becoming overgrown seemed to have accelerated. Zoe wondered if it was the mold nourishing them, and had often had nightmares in which the vines came alive and started to smother the buildings like a multitude of grasping fingers.

In one dream, she had found her parents, Lucas and Mia wrapped in an impenetrable cocoon of vines that pulsed and shivered around them, only their grey faces visible. Eveline had been standing watching them, a half-smile on her face, and despite her horror Zoe had spoken to her.

“What's happening to them?” she'd asked, and her mother's eyelids had fluttered at the sound of her voice.

“They're chrysalids,” said Eveline in a low voice. “It's changing them.”

“They're already changed!” Zoe argued, but Evie had thrown her a pitying,  patronising look.

“You think they've changed? Oh, Zoe. You haven't seen  _ anything _ yet….”

Her mother's mouth had opened, and it was full of vines, spilling tendrils that moved and quested as though seeking her out, and Eveline had clapped her hands in delight.

“It's working!” she said. “And it's your turn now.”

Zoe had woken then, but not before she'd felt the green tongues of vines looping around her legs.

She hadn't thought about the dream in a long time, but the memory of it was brought back as Asim made a hand signal towards the foliage and it moved, the fronds parting, giving birth to men. Lots of men.

They were all dressed the same, all anonymous with their stocking masks. They carried weapons, each and every one, a mixture of handguns and rifles mostly, but some of them carried swords, the gleam of the blades dulled by something dark smeared on them.

“Youssef. Mossi. Omar. You're on reconnaissance.  Go in through the back door and locate the targets. Ahmad and Ramy, you're backup. Go.”

The five men detached from the group, making their way silently across the yard, creeping up the steps in a little huddle. They had a brief discussion on the verandah, three of them going ahead, the other two following after a short delay.

Asim leaned against the trailer and lit a cigarette.

“Is that it?” asked Zoe. “You're sending five people in?”

“Only three are necessary,” said Asim dismissively. “The other two are just support.”

“But didn't your boss tell you about my parents? Didn't he say anything about what they might find in there?”

Moonlight glinted off white teeth through the mask as he grinned.

“He told us, yeah. Said the woman who contacted him was delusional, possibly crazy.”

Zoe felt her face flush, glad it was too dark for him to see. She wanted to yell at him, but knew better than to make too much noise.

“Those men are going to die if they're not prepared,” she hissed.

Asim laughed.

“Against an old man? An old woman? A little girl?”

He snorted.

“It was hardly worth bringing so many of us. But my boss wants them to pay. An eye for an eye. He wants them alive, if possible. He wants to entertain them personally….”

“You're going to fail,” said Zoe. “Unless you take this seriously, y’all are gonna die.”

Asim looked at her curiously.

“You seem so sure,” he said. “What - do they have super powers or something?”

The men at his side chuckled among themselves, but Zoe ignored them.

“Yes, they do,” she said. “An’ a army o’ monsters besides. Either send the rest o’ your men in, or pull out the ones that are in there.”

Asim made an impatient noise.

“You're annoying me now,” he said. “I've done things like this dozens of times, against men who were far more dangerous. Stop interfering and let me get on with it.”

“But -”

Zoe got no further before a gunshot resounded from inside the house, followed by a yell of horror. Other guns went off, overlapping each other, and Asim shook his head.

“So much for taking them alive,” he muttered. “I hope they can preserve at least one of them….”

“I'm goin’ back in my trailer,” said Zoe, her voice shaky.

She climbed the steps on wobbly legs, pulling the door shut behind her. It was no defense should one of her parents decide to barge in, but she hoped that they wouldn't suspect her involvement. She huddled in her couch, taking nervous peeks through the curtains.

The sounds were muffled now, but she could see bright flashes of light in the windows as the guns fired in the darkness. Someone was screaming up at the house, a throaty noise full of terror and blood that cut off abruptly.

_ The monsters _ , she thought, clasping a pillow to her chest and cuddling it convulsively.  _ Evie has set the monsters on them…. _

She couldn't blame herself. She'd tried to explain about the Molded when she'd called Fatima's father, but looking back she could recall that he'd been very offhand in his reaction. Like he hadn't believed her.

There was a commotion among the gathered men outside, hushed babbling and voices raises in question. She'd  _ told _ him, she reminded herself. She'd  _ warned _ him.

Asim was striding forward, gun cocked and held out in front of him, but he stopped as lights came on in the main hall. The back door swung open, a figure framed in the doorway, big and bulky with reflected light shining off his glasses.

_ Daddy….. _

He stood there for a moment, surveying the shocked men, then stomped out onto the porch.

Zoe couldn't see Asim’s face as he had his back to her, but he'd stopped in his tracks at the sight of her father, though he hadn't lowered his gun.

Jack was carrying his shovel in one hand, sharpened blade pointing towards the floor.  Something dripped from it that looked black in the moonlight.

His other hand swung something at his side, bumping against his leg as he walked, and when he stopped at the top of the steps it spun gently from his fist.

Zoe heard his words when he started to speak, deep bass booming out across the silent men.

“Don't know who you are, but you ain't welcome here,” he said. “Who the fuck do you think you are, comin’ here, threatenin’ my little girl?”

Nobody replied, and he shook his head, lip curled in a snarl of disgust. The men seemed frozen under his gaze, although a ripple of confusion travelled through the small crowd.

“Well, whoever you are, you ain't leavin’,” he announced. “That's for sure. We got got a use for every miserable one o’ ya. Nobody goes to waste in this house.”

Asim found his voice, but it sounded shrill and querulous compared to her father’s.

“Where are my men?” he demanded. “What have you done with them?”

Jack laughed.

“This an’ that,” he said. “We got our ways o’ dealin’ with the likes o’ you. Oh, by the way - is this one o’ yours?”

He lifted the thing he held, raising it up by his shoulder. It was a severed head, suspended from its hair, the raw stump of the neck oozing blood.

Asim gasped. Jack looked at the head, considering.

“Aw, sorry,” he said. “Seems I'm mistaken - he was a little shorter than that.”

He lowered it a few inches.

“How ‘bout now? Look familiar?”

“Youssef!” wailed Asim. “My brother!”

Jack laughed.

“Your brother was a little pussy. But here - you can have him back anyways…”

He hurled the head at Asim, and it twirled as it described a long arc, seeming to hang in the air indefinitely before hitting Asim in the face. The man squawked, dropping his gun and fumbling for it, but it fell to the floor at his feet with a sickening thud. Asim fell onto his knees, clutching at his face, and when he shouted again his voice sounded foggy and nasal.

“Kill him!” he bawled, and there was a moment's silence before the first man fired, but once he had, the others joined in.

Jack’s body rocked under the onslaught,  bullets hitting him in the chest, shoulders and belly, but he started forward anyway as though they were a mere irritation. His mouth was pulled into a grimace of anger as he swung his shovel up, brandishing it. 

Jack roared, swinging the shovel towards Asim in a killing sweep, but at that moment a bullet ricocheted off it with a spark and a clang, knocking it backwards. Asim scrambled to his feet, but in his panic he stumbled, falling back down onto his hands, and he scrabbled away in that pose, running for cover with his ass in the air.

Someone ran at Jack with a sword raised, but he batted them aside with a backhand swipe as casually as if he were swatting a fly.

Every man was focused on the immediate threat - so much so that when Jack’s reinforcements arrived, hardly anybody noticed.

Zoe noticed. She cowered in her trailer as a yellow glow became visible in her peripheral vision, shining through the lattice work that enclosed the verandah on the upper storey. It drifted through the darkness like a giant firefly, hovering four feet above the floor. The darting shadows of moths danced around it, fluttering wings casting glancing shadows.

“Momma, no….” moaned Zoe.

It came to rest above the commotion and lingered, swinging gently from side to side, and the sight of it hanging there filled Zoe with more dread than the spectacle of her father slicing his way through bullets like a berserker. 

She wanted to shriek through the window, warn them, but instead she pressed the pillow to her mouth helplessly, biting back her cries.

The light sank down, settling on the floor, and Zoe knew that couldn’t be a good sign: Her mother was freeing her hands.

The lattice on the verandah smashed open, wood splintering and flying off in all directions, and there was Marguerite, climbing out through the hole. Her arms were monstrous, long spidery limbs that stretched out to grasp the edges, and she pulled herself through, crouching on the brink. Her jaws were spread in a wide, unnatural grin, and she gnashed them together as she surveyed the scene below. Her body twitched with rage, long runners of saliva dripping from her mouth.

_ “Get the fuck off my husband, youcocksuckers!”  _ she screeched.

Her voice was distorted and harsh, far from the gentle tones Zoe had been used to all her life, and with a heave of her gangling arms she launched herself off the verandah, sailing through the air in one leap.

She landed on the grass below, legs coiling beneath her to absorb the impact, and they were just as elongated as her arms. She hunched over, poised to spring forward, head jerking from one enemy to another, before leaping through the air and taking one down.

Jack had a man by the throat, dangling him above the ground as he drew back his fist for one of his trademark punches, but his attention was diverted by the actions of his wife, and Zoe could see his face soften fondly as she lurched over the fallen man.

“Hehehe, that’s my girl,” he said as she squatted over her victim.

The man was looking up at her in horror, and as Marguerite lifted the hem of her skirt he began to scream like a child finally encountering the boogeyman that had lurked under his bed.

Zoe saw the fabric of her mother’s skirt shift, billowing outwards, and a rush of bugs that Zoe recognised only too well swarmed out, enveloping him. He writhed on the ground as they covered him, attacking every inch of skin they could find, and his screams dwindled to a gurgle as they crowded down his throat.

“That’s it, Marguerite - go get’em honey!” crowed Jack as she raised herself stiffly, stalking on to tackle the next man.

Zoe wept into her pillow as the battle continued. Her parents were doing a lot of damage, but any that was done to them was being healed as fast as it occurred. They were both hugely outnumbered, but Zoe couldn’t imagine her would-be rescuers coming out on top - especially when the Molded appeared.

The first man to see one of the monsters sounded the alarm, calling out to his colleagues as he backed away, gun raised. The creature was one of the larger ones, a distended, armoured claw hanging by its side, and the man fired frantically, the bullets sinking into the mulch of the thing’s body uselessly. It gave a soggy roar and staggered towards him, and its arm swooped up, catching him in the stomach. Its claw tore through him effortlessly, parting the flesh of his belly and sending his guts slithering out onto the trampled grass.

Zoe turned away, feeling her gorge rise, and tasted bitter bile in the back of her throat.

Her father was still punching his way methodically through the crowd, using his shovel on the fallen ones, and there were limbs scattered like driftwood all over the lawn. A man with no arms wriggled on his belly, pushing with his feet even as he bled out, trying to get under cover, and Jack followed him with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

He stood over him, one foot either side, keeping pace like the wounded man was a baby he was in charge of, and watched his pathetic efforts until the man had nearly reached the tangled vines at the boundary. Only then did he finish him off, holding his shovel upright like it was Excalibur, freshly pulled from the stone, and brought the edge down in the middle of the man’s spine, slicing him in half.

 

There was a little area of calm up on the verandah while pandemonium ensued - a figure that stood still in all the chaos. Zoe stared in dread at the familiar little figure, watching the spectacle with evident satisfaction.

More of the Molded had come out, tearing and biting and pulverising, and she smiled as she watched them, an indulgent parent,  proud of her offspring.

Her head turned sharply at motion by the trailer, and Zoe ducked down in panic, thinking she’d been spotted, but as she did so she saw what Eveline had seen: Two men who had had enough, and were fleeing the scene, heading for the gate that led down to the swamp.

Even through the din of the battle, Zoe heard Eveline’s voice, clear and high, cutting through everything.

“Bubbles!” sang Eveline, and Zoe stuffed her fist into her mouth.

Something came crashing out from beneath the house, something that looked like one of the Molded but was dreadfully fast and low to the ground. It skidded to a halt, limbs bent beneath it, and though it was surely only Zoe’s imagination she could swear its rear end wriggled, wagging a tail that was no longer there.

“Get them, Bubbles!” urged Eveline, clapping her hands in delight. “Fetch!”

The things raced forward, faster than its two-legged counterparts, covering the ground with preternatural speed, and it closed the distance in seconds, bringing down the nearest man. The man screamed, his arm caught in the creature’s mouth, and with a vicious shake of its head the arm came loose, He staggered backwards, staring in disbelief at the place his arm had been, but before he could do anything else the thing that had been Bubbles dropped its prize and went for his crotch.

It was the final straw, and Zoe turned away from the window with a moan. Something hit the side of the trailer, something that sounded wet and gloopy, and she lay herself face down on her couch, pillow pressed over her head, and waited for it to be over.

 

It had gone quiet, although Zoe feared that the sounds of screams would echo in her head for the rest of her life.

She sat up cautiously, resuming her station by the crack in the curtain, and peered outside.

The yard looked like a slaughterhouse, blood slicking the grass, body parts lying scattered like someone had smashed them out of a morbid pinata. Some of the corpses had been rent apart by claws, some sliced to pieces by her father's shovel. Some had been the victims of her mother's bugs, and still more were cocooned in some kind of dirty silk like bugs in a spider's web. Through them all, the Bubbles-molded frolicked happily, pausing to snatch up and gobble tasty little morsels.

Jack and Marguerite stood amongst the carnage, taking stock. Marguerite was slowly morphing back into her usual form, bones and joints crackling as they shrank. Jack was fastidiously cleaning blood smears from his glasses with the tail of his shirt.

Eveline descended from the verandah, picking her way through the gore daintily, holding up the hem of her dress.

“Do we know where they came from? Why they were here?” she asked, poking a nearby corpse with the toe of her boot.

“Dunno, sweetpea,” said Jack solemnly. “They seemed pretty organised. Not organised  _ enough _ , but still….”

“Where are Lucas and Mommy?”

“I expect Lucas is in his barn, cher,” said Marguerite. “When he gets all wrapped up in one o’ his projects  _ nothing  _ gets through to him.”

She giggled softly.

“He's gonna come out here an’ wonder what in the world went on!”

“He should have been here to help,” said Eveline severely. “Mommy too.”

“Oh, don't be too harsh, sugar,” said Marguerite. “He’ll be mad as a wet hen that he missed out on this.”

“We dealt with it anyway,” said Jack soothingly, petting the top of the child’s head. “Didn't need them gettin’ in the way.”

There was a scuffle over in the far corner, and Jack snapped his head round.

“What's that creature doin’?” he said, looking over to where the Bubbles-thing was frisking excitedly, worrying at something on the ground.

“A survivor!” said Eveline. “Go get him, Daddy Jack!”

Jack strode off to retrieve the lone man, dragging him back over to Eveline by his collar while Molded Bubbles danced around, snapping at his extremities.

The man was battered and bloody, a sleeve hanging off his shirt, a large gash in his leg. His head rolled loosely on his neck and he groaned as Jack manhandled him.

“Take his mask off,” ordered Eveline, and Jack obeyed, bunching the top in his fist and yanking it away like he was unveiling a Scooby Doo villain.

The man yelped as his mask was pulled off, some of his hair dragged out by the roots. He would have been a handsome man with his flawless skin and the thin, neatly trimmed black beard, but his nose had been smashed and lay sideways across his face.

“Ain't from round here,” remarked Jack, peering down at the man. “Looks like a foreigner. Get to your feet! Show a little respect.”

He shook the man by the scruff of his neck, and he struggled to his feet.

“What's your name?” asked Eveline imperiously.

“Asim….”

His voice was barely a moan, but it carried over the now silent yard to Zoe’s trailer.

“Why did you come here?”

Asim grinned woozily, teeth dark with blood.

“To kill you, little girl….”

“But why? How do you know me?”

Eveline looked pissed, her face screwed up into a spoiled scowl, but Asim shook his head, undeterred by her anger.

“Want me to kill him?” asked Jack. “Could snap his neck like a twig, if ya want.”

“No,” said Evie, deep in thought. “We’ll keep him alive. He's going to tell us everything.”

In the trailer, Zoe went cold. Eveline had her ways of finding things out, she knew. Torture was one option, but all it would take was for Asim to become infected and the answers would be there, clear as day, for Eveline to pluck from his mind. And right at the forefront would be Zoe’s face.

“I'll tell you nothing,” Asim said, thick eyebrows drawing together in a frown, but Eveline smiled sweetly at his insolence, shaking his confidence.

“Take him to the guest house and put him in the cells,” she told Jack.

Asim had been wobbly on his legs, slumped over and weak, but it became clear that this was a ruse designed to lull them as he broke free of Jack’s grasp and darted away, sprinting across the yard, leaping over dead bodies.

“No! Get him!” screamed Eveline.

Jack gave chase, but the younger man had a head start and was much quicker on his feet, and Jack’s steady charge was no match.

The Bubbles-molded joined in, but it had been facing the other way, and its four legs tangled beneath it as it tried to sort them out.

Zoe had no hope for his escape though. Her father wouldn't tire, and he knew the lay of the land far better. Asim would be caught, and he would tell. And then? Zoe didn't know what would happen to her.

The door to the barn crashed open and a figure rushed out of the darkness.

It was Lucas - skinny, speedy Lucas - and he carried something long in his hand.

Lucas had played baseball when he was younger. He hadn't really enjoyed it, and had only done it to keep Jack happy. He'd hated waiting around for the ball to come in his direction and often his attention had wandered so he never caught it when it did. And he was lazy - had never sprinted between bases, taking the run at a loping jog, but despite this he had always been picked first at baseball, and that was because of his skill with a bat.

Jack had always bragged that his son had been blessed with a batting arm equal to none, and it was true he had been a formidable power hitter. His quick eye and accuracy had ensured he'd rarely missed.

Zoe was reminded of that now as he appeared, baseball bat cocked back ready, and as Asim drew level with him Lucas put an extra spurt into his step and swung, twisting at the waist and putting everything into the hit.

It struck Asim in the temple, knocking the man’s head sideways, and the  _ crack! _ it made was sure to haunt Zoe’s dreams for weeks to come.

Asim’s momentum carried him a few unsteady paces forward before he toppled to the ground, hitting the dirt full length and twitching for a moment before lying still.

“Whoo wee! Got him!” cheered Lucas, raising the bat above his head and pumping it in the air. “No need to thank me, folks. Was nothin’.”

“Lucasss. …!” groaned Eveline, putting her palm over her face.

Jack had stopped and was shaking his head in disbelief.

“What?” asked Lucas, lowering his bat. “What's wrong?”

“We wanted him  _ alive _ ,” explained Eveline, and Lucas’s shoulders sagged.

“Oh. Oh shit. I didn't know…..”

He bent down and rolled the man over onto his back.

Asim’s eyes were open and staring, and a single rivulet of blood was trickling from his ear. Lucas nudged him with the end of his bat, watching the body jiggle lifelessly. 

“Uh...I could mebbe do CPR,” he said doubtfully. “Think I learned that once.”

“That's not going to do any good!” sneered Jack. “You done fucked everything up again, boy!”

Lucas bristled at the censure, wielding his baseball bat threateningly.

“Hey! How was I s’posed to know? Nobody called me! I missed out on all this bullshit!”

“If you'd paid attention you'd o’ fuckin’ heard it all goin’ on! Spend too much time in that fuckin’ barn, y’ask me. God knows what you're doin’ in there. Prolly somethin’  _ nasty…. _ ”

“That right? Tell you what, old man, y’all think you're hot shit but you wouldn't last 5 minutes in my barn with all the stuff I got goin’ on in there….”

They were chest to chest now, squaring up to each other, and Lucas stuck his chin out belligerently.

“Stop that!” said Eveline, her voice sharp, and both men immediately stood down.

“Lucas meant well,” she sighed. “But to make up for it he has to help clear up all this  _ mess _ .”

Lucas looked crestfallen, but nodded his obedience.

“Can look through their pockets,” he suggested. “See if there's any clues.”

“Good thinking. Where's Mommy, by the way? She should have been here too.”

“Last time I saw her she was wanderin’ towards the old house, talkin’ to herself. Looked like she was havin’ one o’ her -”

Lucas twirled his finger by the side of his head.

“ - y’know.  _ Spells _ ,” he finished.

Eveline nodded.

“I'll look for her later. Let her have a little time to herself.”

“It's very stressful, bein’ a Momma,” interjected Marguerite, voice full of sympathy.

“C’mon then, Lucas,” said Jack, all animosity gone. “Let's get started. Got a lot o’ work to do.”

Lucas came over to the trailer, leaning his bat against the outside wall. His face was carefully blank, but he sought out the crack in the curtains, finding Zoe’s peeping eyes and exchanging a meaningful look with her.

Zoe had been sickened by the ease with which he'd dispatched Asim, but she understood. He'd battered a boy to death in the swamp nearly a decade ago in order to protect her, and tonight he'd done the same thing for the same reason.

Dead men could tell no tales, and Asim had taken his secret with him.


End file.
